Miscalculation
by No.13
Summary: On his father's suggestion Kyouya proceeds to befriend a new transfer student at Ouran. However, while Kyouya and the other Host Club members notice something off about him early on, Kyouya does not anticipate the outcome correctly.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **OHSHC is not mine.

**AN:** This fic is a bit of an experiment, so feel free to share your thoughts on the effect of tense, brackets and perspective within the fic. Contentwise, it is also an experiment... so I wouldn't mind some opinions (or heads-up if I got something wrong).

**Warnings: **None for this chapter. Please head the overall rating for this fic.

* * *

**Miscalculation**

"Shirokawa's eldest son is joining Ouran tomorrow, isn't he?"

"Indeed, father."

"You've met him already at the presentation of their last quarter report, didn't you? A friendship might be advantageous for our family, as well."

* * *

Kyouya has done his research when he meets Shirokawa in Ouran's hallway for the first time (just as he expected, his own class is currently en route to another attempt at physics that will bore one half to tears, while the other half really could not care less. Shirokawa's class is due for a go at music lessons.). Shirokawa is conspicuous by towering over the rest of the student body by a good head – Mori may still be taller, and Mori may also be the better material artist, but Shirokawa is built like a pro-wrestler.

"Ootori-kun!" Shirokawa exclaims, a wide smile spreading over his face – the students part for him automatically.

Kyouya ignores Tamaki's reaction (yes, Kyouya has a number of acquaintances in his age range outside of Ouran), and steps forward with a smile of his own. "Shirokawa-senpai. It's a pleasure to see you here."

Shirokawa laughs. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe it – so many new people, and I don't know anybody. You have no clue how happy I am to see a familiar face. Say, do you think you could show me around? Or just help me find my way? I think I already got lost about three times in two days, and honestly, my sense of orientation isn't that bad."

"Of course I can. Ouran's grounds are quite vast," Kyouya replies instantly. He thinks this may be a good moment to introduce Tamaki – he can feel the blond growing impatient beside him. The moment he is about to speak, Shirokawa interrupts.

"Super! After school, then?" Shirokawa appears rather eager. He is also standing a little too close for Kyouya's comfort.

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I will be busy with club. Maybe …"

"Never mind, I'll just wait then," Shirokawa says as if that's the most obvious thing in the world, "Well, I have to run now. See you later!"

Kyouya feels Tamaki's inquisitive gaze boring into him. "An acquaintance," he replies to the unvoiced question.

* * *

"Who is that guy?" Haruhi asks during a quiet second. Few of those exist during club hours – most are hard-won during costume-changing or costume-readjusting time.

Kaoru, adjusting a colorful hat next to her, shrugs.

"Shirokawa Kensuke," Hunny chimes in, "Transferred to Ouran just this Monday. It seems he knew Kyou-chan from before."

She nods thoughtfully, eyeing the tall third-year student (who, occupying Kyouya for this afternoon, had garnered much attention) curiously. Probably he is just at odds with all the new faces and sought out the sole familiar one.

Of course, owing to her distraction her costume ends up crooked, earning her a severe scolding from both Hikaru and Tamaki.

* * *

Shirokawa, it turns out, remains bad at making friends. While he is certainly not bad looking, a number of girls are simply intimidated by his sheer size. As are also a number of their male classmates, according to Hunny's and Mori's report. Another rumor blames his odd behavior and strange statements made in class – for the host club, well used to Tamaki's antics – this is merely something to shrug off.

Still, after ten days Kyouya admits Shirokawa's presence is bad for business – due to scaring off a number of shyer customers as well as occupying Kyouya's time exclusively. Thus, the next day ten minutes into the hosting session the twins accidentally spill a can of soda over Shirokawa, and the third-year student has no choice but leave (nobody mentions the room stuffed with costumes right next door).

Moments after Shirokawa is out of the door, Tamaki tackles Kyouya with a shout of "Mother!", while the twins join in, cajoling about how Daddy needs to make a bigger effort from now on, because "Daddy doting on his daughter is wonderful, but he needs to take care of Mommy too! If he doesn't, somebody else might take Mommy away, and then we'd all be sad, wouldn't we, Kaoru?"

"Terrible, Hikaru, but as long as you are there, I will not fall apart. If somebody tried to take you away from me, however, I would not know how to survive," Kaoru hugs his brother closer amid enthusiastic cheering from their audience.

"Neither would I, beloved brother," says Hikaru, and noise levels go straight through the ceiling.

Then Tamaki takes the stage. "More fool was I – almost blinded by love for my adorable daughter – " Nobody even sees Haruhi roll her eyes – "that I forgot about the one who has been by my side for so long. Will you ever forgive me, mother?"

Kyouya is gritting his teeth too hard to reply. Decking Tamaki seems a valid option, though for some reason he himself introduced a "no violence during business hours" policy some time ago. It had sounded like a good idea, then, though he honestly can't remember any good reason – especially when Tamaki throws an arm around his shoulder and forcibly draws him into a hug.

And the girls love it.

"I promise, I shall make up for my lack of attention! From now on I will not let anybody separate Mommy and Daddy! Not even Mother's beloved notebook!"

Kyouya attempts to catch a glimpse of Tamaki's face – that last declaration was new to the script – though instead found his own face thoroughly pressed against the crook of Tamaki's neck (bony, hard, and his glasses get squished to his faze). Furthermore, Tamaki's imitation of an octopus is very skillfully done – he has no choice but to stumble along as Tamaki drags him over to one of the couches.

Eventually, they host together – something they rarely do – the girls are ecstatic, and as unreadable as Kyouya is, Haruhi gains the expression he is not quite adverse to it. Even if the first thing he does afterwards is head for his laptop.

* * *

Any joy is gone from Kyouya's face the next day when Tamaki proudly presents his cosplay plan: acting out their family roles, in Victorian-style costumes. Haruhi is not happy either – while Tamaki gushes over details and how this is going to show the depth of their bond.

Hunny is not concerned what he wears as long as there is cake. Nobody has yet dared to suggest to Mori to wear a dress. Kyouya is about to refuse (though secretly he is impressed at how Tamaki managed to make arrangements in such a short time), but then the twins cheerfully proclaim they will act as female twins today. Victorian lady's fashion may be heavy and restrictive, but they're future designers – fashion is not about being comfortable (unless on special occasions); to them fashion is art.

Thus Kyouya acknowledges defeat, dons the hideously uncomfortable costume and concurrently lectures the twins that corsets went out of fashion for a reason, namely constituting a danger to internal organs – _and stop tightening it further!_

Tamaki is happy with the final result, and the rest of the club eventually admits that yes, organization and execution certainly went smoothly. Their customers react better than predicted – Kyouya has, to his regret, not yet been able to correctly identify the factor by which the response of their customers to hosts in female get-up is amplified.

The twins' act does not make calculating this any easier. Their sisterly(?) love-act takes the audience in at once, and there is much cooing, squeeing, swooning and fainting. Five customers have to go and sit outside to calm down before the first ten minutes are over – a new record. Hikaru, unfazed, proceeds to play with Kaoru's skirt, faux-accidentally exposing one nicely-shaped, stocking-clad leg to the world. Not that Kaoru, resting on hand tenderly against his brother's cheek and playing with the hair-extensions, is any better.

If there is any dialogue it is lost among the exhilarated fangirls' yells.

Hunny and Mori have taken over the role of observing neighbors/ distant cousins. They, and their customers, sit – pretentiously civilized – around a table, drinking tea, eating lemon cake – and sharing hair-splitting (and toenail-curling) tales of the "family next door". According to Hunny, Tamaki swept "Mommy" of her feet in a whirlwind romance, leading them to elope to Iceland, before eventually settling down in Japan. Also, Tamaki is a professional dancer, and Kyouya used to work for the secret service.

Tamaki is more than happy to take the very random cues and go with them. Haruhi is happy that her name rarely appears in those convoluted tales. There may be a bit fewer customers at her table today, but at least those that are present are all capable of holding a decent conversation. Or spontaneously providing her with in-depth analysis of the host clubs' behavioral patterns. Which included a number of far-reaching conclusions Haruhi really could have done without (those included the terms: oral fixation, early-stage schizophrenia, projecting, id, and arachnophobia).

An hour into that madness Kyouya decids to sneak out for a break. His cheeks feel as stiff as the dress. And the next person to tell him this ten-kilo abnomination looks good on him was going to suffer. Grievously.

He has not expected to find somebody else in his sanctuary (a small sitting room, two doors down from the third music room. Probably a storage room earlier, now mostly empty but for some armchairs, a table and a lovely view of the sunset).

"Ootori!" Shirokawa grins at him, "Just the person I was waiting for. And I must say, this outfit looks lovely on you. You wouldn't by any chance be willing to accompany me like this to, let's say, the opera some time?"

Kyouya glares at him, and Shirokawa waves it off, laughing. "Never mind, never mind."

And then he steps closer, eyeing Kyouya intensly. "But you do look good, honestly."

Kyouya steps back, and his back hits the wall. Shirokawa seems to take no note of his discomfort (not that Kyouya is showing it, really, but backing somebody up against a wall is generally not considered polite).

"You know, I was thinking," Shirokawa says, and there is an odd tension in the air. Kyouya glances about the room, and just when Shirokawa reaches out for him, saying something about "the two of us are…" he exclaims "oh, there it is!" and pushes past the older student.

Kyouya picks up a random book from the table, and directs a polite smile at Shirokawa. "Well, I need to get back."

* * *

"He's annoying," is Hikaru's verdict after three weeks have gone by. Shirokawa seems to be everywhere Kyouya is – waiting after club, dropping in during class. Even Tamaki can't bring himself to like the third-year student.

"Maybe he's just insecure," Haruhi suggests without much conviction. Superficially it seems rather ridiculous for the bulkiest student at school to feel insecure of all things – but this is Ouran, and the picking order is not decided by muscle.

"Doesn't act like it, though," says Kaoru, "I mean, the clingy part fits, but it's not as if he was actually trying to befriend anybody from his year. He doesn't even try to get into contact with Hunny-senpai or Mori-senpai."

"Annoying," Hikaru reaffirms. Then he tilts his head. "And creepy, I think."

It's not a nice thing to say about somebody you hardly know – but Haruhi does not protest. And not because their math teacher just walked in.

* * *

During week no.4 of Shirokawa's presence Kyouya finds himself a lot of more tolerant of Tamaki's spontaneous side-trips when migrating from one classroom to another. It is almost as if Shirokawa memorized his time-table. And while Kyouya would never admit it, he subconsciously realizes he has started dodging the other.

Which can't go on. His father said to make friends, after all.

Thus, the next time Shirokawa waylays them, Kyouya lets himself be dragged away with a smile, mentioning to Tamaki to go ahead, and saying nothing about the too-tight grip Shirokawa has on his upper arm.

Unfortunately for him, however, Shirokawa seems to have no intention of letting go, even after they reached his destination – a secluded spot on the school's extensive grounds. Rather far away from the music room – he'll have to hurry to make it in time for club.

"… and it seems like I hardly ever see you anymore, Kyouya," Shirokawa says, smiling down at Kyouya, who can't recall ever having invited the other to use his first name.

"Well, we are both fairly busy after all," Kyouya says politely, raising his hands – he does not dare to push him away, since that is too close to a straight-out offense. And if he offends Shirokawa he can bury any hope of inheriting the Ootori empire instantly.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. But I kind of really hope we'll get to spend some more time together, because, you know, I think we get along really well. Like, they say, a house on fire." Kyouya does not like the glint in Shirokawa's eyes as he is saying this.

The moment Kyouya had heard about Shirokawa joining Ouran he had done his homework. Their previous, superficial encounters had already revealed a number of uncomfortable details. Deeper research had not done anything to joss the tentative hypothesis Kyouya had developed.

Shirokawa had been young when his parents had gotten a divorce – a bad one, accompanied by bad press, fierce fights and few thoughts spared on how this was going to affect the couple's young son. Only a few month down the road and Shirokawa senior found living in the house impossible, disappearing for month-long business trips as often as possible.

"I want us to be best friends, Kyouya," Shirokawa proclaims, both of his hands now resting on Kyouya's shoulders – uncomfortably warm, and improperly close. (It is hypocritical of him, Kyouya realizes, he reacts completely different to comparable types of behavior from Tamaki. But he really does not like being so close to Shirokawa, not when the taller student is looking at him this intently.)

"And also I want…" A ringing cellphone cuts off whatever else Shirokawa intends to say, and Kyouya takes a step back with an apologeptic smile.

"Please excuse me," he says before taking the call.

* * *

"I don't like him," says Hunny, and the rest of the host club members (minus Kyouya, who is, once again, absent), "He feels weird."

"And wasn't there some story about him telling some wild tale in class recently?" asks Hikaru, lazily draped over one of the arm chairs in the music room, "I heard it from one of our customers yesterday. Apparently he sometimes sprouts total rubbish without even noticing it."

"Well, I don't know him very well, but I can't say I found him likeable either," Haruhi adds, "But I wonder why Kyouya-senpai puts up with him. From what I can see he doesn't enjoy Shirokawa-senpai's company very much."

"Ah, well," Tamaki turns from his perch on the window still (he has taken up brooding with renewed ferocity lately), "This is … well, …"

"Shirokawa's father runs a successful pharmaceutical company," Kaoru chimes in.

"Exactly. And a friendship might be beneficial…" says Tamaki, and sounds as if he is quoting somebody else.

There isn't much else anybody needs to say. Haruhi has heard enough about Ootori Yoshio's high expectations, and she is familiar enough with Kyouya's thought patterns to realize that the option of not befriending Shirokawa did simply not exist.

"Well, he's still one creepy weirdo," says Hikaru, "And I agree with Haruhi; I don't think Kyouya enjoys being dragged around by him too much."

"He doesn't," says Tamaki in a flat tone. And Haruhi realizes that Tamaki is a lot more concerned than the rest of them.

* * *

"Go ahead without me," Kyouya tells Tamaki after class the following Friday, "I may be late as well – just make certain you get on with the program as planned."

Tamaki raises an eyebrow, Kyouya waves a folded note at him and Tamaki smiles – to this day he is the only student who received enough invitations to secret meetings (confessions) to spend one entire day outside of class. A stern addressing of the issue however had led to a decrease in those invitations.

Then Tamaki hurries out of the room – and Kyouya's smile falls. The note in his hand is written by Shirokawa. Inviting him to meet him down in the cellar.

And already now Kyouya is fairly certain this particular meeting is going to be awkward.

Tamaki is surprised to find a sign stating club is cancelled today attached to the door of the third music room. Especially since the entire club is assembled, seated around a laptop.

"Isn't Kyo-chan with you?" Hunny-senpai inquires.

"No," Tamaki replies, "Why is the club…?"

"We did some snooping," says Hikaru, while Kaoru simultaneously corrects "We did some research."

"Maybe it's better if Kyouya-senpai isn't here for this part," Haruhi contemplates, "I mean, he needs to know, but…"

Tamaki is over at their makeshift conference table with few, wide steps. Carelessly he casts his school bag off into a corner, and drops down on the couch next to Kaoru. "What is going on?" he asks, not attempting to hide his unease.

"Well, you know how Haruhi and I sometimes try to makes sense of the club's finances?" Kaoru sets out, "And recently there was a steep increase in the sale of photo books and memorabilia. Especially those featuring Kyouya-senpai."

Kaoru looks rather uncomfortable, and Hunny sets his plate with half-eaten cake down. "So we traced the credit card used for those purchases," he explains without batting an eyelash, "And found out it belongs to Shirokawa."

The lack of honorific is telling, especially when used by Hunny. Haruhi feels a cold shudder run down her spine, while Tamaki has paled.

"Also, we managed to get a glimpse at some other records," Hikaru continues, "He was in treatment for psychological issues a number of times. And one of his teachers left a remark about him displaying obsessive behavior in class."

"It makes sense when you look at his backstory – the guy had a deal of bad luck early on, and of course that leaves some traces," says Kaoru, "But well, I don't think letting him obsess over Kyouya-senpai is helping, really."

"It isn't," Haruhi adds, with determination.

"Which is why we wanted to tell Kyou-chan, and then maybe find a way for Shirokawa to get help," Hunny explains cheerfully.

Tamaki's chest feels tight – the plan sounds as sound as most host club endeavors do, but he can see it working. There is something else in this that deeply disturbs him – he just can't quite put a finger on it yet.

"Where is Kyouya-senpai, anyway?" asks Haruhi.

"He got a confession," replies Tamaki, still trying to figure out what makes him feel so uneasy.

Hunny frowns. "But Tama-chan, you know that confessions like that are not allowed here anymore."

"Only somebody new wouldn't know about that rule," says Hikaru.

A split moment later they simultaneously reach the same conclusion.

"Oh, hell!"

tbc

* * *

_If you have any thoughts, comments to share with me or found mistakes, please leave a review. ^_^_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**AN**: Thank you for reading; and while my writing philosophy is that I'm writing for my own amusement - it makes me happy to hear other people enjoy what my mind came up with (and seriously, it makes me feel less odd. Writing fanfic is, at least among people I know, not quite a socially acceptable activity). Erhm, yes, and, of course, suggestions as to how to improve are warmly welcome!

**Warnings:** Blood, violence, attempted rape. Please take care.

* * *

**Miscalculation**

**Part II**

Kyouya takes in the state of the empty corridor with a half-hearted frown. Ouran's cellar hallways most certainly are in no state of disrepair, yet the décor is not up to par. And he hasn't heard of them to be popular for confessions of any sorts.

He snorts silently. Somewhere in the back of his mind he keeps hoping a confession is not why Shirokawa has requested to meet him here, after hours – but that is the only logical conclusion to be gained from both Shirokawa's clingy behavior and this out-of-way location.

At least the location implies Shirokawa does not realistically expect any feelings to be returned; thus this place will save both of them some embarrassment. Both, because Kyouya, for all his experience of refusing girls, has yet to have to turn somebody down of his own gender (rejecting Tamaki whenever he turned overly attached or got too lost in his fantasies does not count).

A glance at his watch reveals it to be two minutes to three, and not a hair of Shirokawa to be seen.

Maybe he wizened up, concluded this to be too much and hightailed out of Ouran. Hopefully out of the country as well, though Kyouya has to admit that his own father will not be too happy with a lack of … contact.

Then he hears footsteps behind him.

Kyouya sighs, steels his nerves – and abruptly a large arm wraps around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides, while a piece of white cloth is shoved against his face. He recognizes the sharp smell immediately – his efforts to squirm free are in vain (the grip is as tight as a Boa Constrictor's) – and just has a split second to wonder what has gone wrong – he is certain this is Shirokawa and not a random kidnapping attempt – but why has he not expected …

The world fades away.

* * *

"Where the hell did they disappear to?" Hikaru exclaims, throwing his arms out in frustration. Haruhi is too winded to say a word, while Tamaki keeps biting his lip.

They basically covered most of the school grounds already – at least the spots popular for dates and confessions and every other place they could think of, but none brought results. For now Ouran's sheer size has become a serious disadvantage – and with every passing second they only grow more worried.

And Tamaki keeps thinking about the list of purchases charged to Shirokawa's credit card the twins provided. Shirokawa's behavior in school has been annoying, bordering on creepy (but Tamaki had always guessed that to have been merely his own impression. Kyouya had, after all, never reacted with anything but utmost politeness). The list, however, speaks of obsession.

Tamaki reminds himself not to draw premature conclusions (but his mind conjures up nightmares). The rest of the host club is not helping – with Hikaru fretting openly, Kaoru reciting all locations at school he can think of, and Hunny and Mori once again off on their own.

(Truthfully, Tamaki thinks, they have it right. He also could fret while walking, but he is frozen.) Instead he dials Kyouya's mobile for the twentieth time in just as many minutes. Haruhi is saying something to Kaoru, but he is too distracted listening – once again – to the dial tone.

Kyouya does not pick up, but at three thirty Tamaki's phone rings.

It is Hunny, who tells them in clipped tones that – of all people – Kuze saw Shirokawa head for the cellar underneath the main building.

(And if there is a deity listening, there will be nothing else to it.)

* * *

His wrists ache, and are probably bleeding – Kyouya can't quite tell. There is a constant ringing in his ears, the lack of glasses has left him dizzy and the gag – Shirokawa's shirt – either chokes him or is making him nauseous with the stench of sweat.

Maybe he shouldn't have tried screaming. Or biting, whenever any limb of Shirokawa came near. A painful jolt races up his leg, making him curl further into himself.

"You really shouldn't have tried to run, Kyouya," says Shirokawa, while carefully inspecting his ankle, "You could have broken something."

He only fell because Shirokawa tackled him, Kyouya fumes. If that brute hadn't tossed all his body weight at him, he might have gotten to the door. And somehow found a way to open it, even with his hands tied behind his back.

For the time being he jerks his leg out of Shirokawa's grasp. Pain burns through his ankle at the move, but he grits his teeth and makes no sound.

Shirokawa sits back on his haunches. He raises an eyebrow and smiles benignly. "Really, is that necessary?"

Kyouya attempts to burn a hole through his head by the power of his glare alone.

"Well, at least you should know it isn't healthy," Shirokawa admonishes, "Your brothers study medicine, don't they? Didn't anybody teach you to cooperate?"

The creepy, cheerful hum in Shirokawa's voice is joined by an odd twist of the lips. Perhaps a smile, or maybe a smirk. He shuffles away from Kyouya's feet – though Kyouya rolls over, trying to keep his legs between the two of them.

He ought to aim for Shirokawa's head. A good hit might even knock him out.

And it really does not bear thinking on what could happen if this last defense was removed.

This time however, Shirokawa has anticipated the move, and with an ease belying his massive size he gets past Kyouya's guard. In a last ditch effort Kyouya makes to roll away – screw dignitiy and all – but fleshy fingers bury themselves in his hair, pulling his upper body up.

His senses scream from disorientation, his neck muscles from strain – and when the black spots fade, Shirokawa's face is far too close; those eyes are fixed far too intently on his face. The glaze in them makes Kyouya even more uncomfortable than the closeness.

"You really are beautiful, you know that, Kyouya," he mutters abruptly, paying no heed to Kyouya's glare, "I know I told you before, and all those girls tell you constantly, but they really don't see you the way I do. Nobody sees you the way I do, after all. They only see that outer layer – you are really something to look at – but only I see what is beneath. Not even your so-called friends do."

Shirokawa nods to himself. "They call you evil and heartless – but they don't know you. Neither do those dull girls you host – though I guess the ones that chose you have better taste at least than the rest of that numb-minded bunch. Really, I don't know how you stand them all…"

He smiles, and Kyouya feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"It's lucky my father decided to relocate here from Nagasaki, isn't it? If I were a romantic I'd call it fate – but no, the relocation was inevitable, and when I heard about it – why stay in Nagasaki when I could come to Tokyo and meet you? You know, it wasn't all that easy to arrange the transfer during the term, but I really couldn't wait for another five month. After all, when do I ever get to see you other than for the release of the quarter reports?"

The second hand – the one that isn't holding Kyouya up by a death grip on his hair – makes to touch his cheek, before being redirected to his shoulder. Kyouya wants to adjust his legs – but can find no purchase to do so. (And he feels queasy.)

"You know, ever since my father introduced us back at that conference two years ago I wanted to go to school with you," Shirokawa continues, gazing off at a point just over Kyouya's shoulder, "I still remember the day just as if it had happened yesterday. You were wearing a dark grey jacket and a white shirt – it made you look like a figure from a black-and-white movie… I really liked those colors on you."

Kyouya does not want to contemplate it, but there is something seriously wrong with Shirokawa. This is not a mere crush the other has on him – which would have been uncomfortable enough – this is far beyond this. Shirokawa did not intend to meet him for a confession at all. Instead his intention, from the very beginning, has been –

Thinking these thoughts, Kyouya reminds himself, is neither constructive nor helpful. (Nor is his rolling stomach).

Shirokawa takes no notice of Kyouya's reaction, lost in his own world. "I even tried to convince my father to let me attend Ouran for High School, but he said it was too far away, and not a good idea businesswise, either. But I worked hard, and even if you can't admit it, the result is wonderful."

Everything but, Kyouya adds in his mind. He isn't yet about to curse the day he had met Shirokawa senior – but making friends with the offspring had obviously not been a good idea.

"But you'll see, in time," Shirokawa smiles (in a way meant to be reassuring, but it sets off every alarm in Kyouya's head), "I mean, the idea does take some time getting used to it. At first I didn't really understand either what I was feeling, and why I kept thinking about you all the time – even in my dreams. You wouldn't believe what happened in my dreams – though I guess I'll tell you later. Hey, we could even act out a couple of them. That would be absolutely great!"

Kyouya swallows down the rising nausea. He tries to shift his body again, and actually dislodges the hand resting on his shoulder. It reaches for the buttons on his shirt instead, and Kyouya can just barely stop himself from flinching.

"You'll like it. We'll both be having the time of our lives, then, " Shirokawa continues in a sing-song voice, "But for now, you have to accept the idea, first. Relax a little, Kyouya. This is going to be great, so just … try to let go."

There go the buttons of his shirt, one after another, undone by surprisingly skilled fingers. Kyouya's breath hitches (he needs to think of something. Fast.).

Shirokawa is pleased – there is a slight flush to his cheeks now. "This is maybe more difficult for you than it is for me. You see, everybody always told me I was good at thinking outside of the box. You seem more … conservative. At least on the outside. We both know it isn't so, do we?"

Shirokawa pushes the shirt down Kyouya's shoulders and leans even closer. His breath tickles Kyouya's cheek – and at that instant he slams his head forward, right into Shirokawa's chin, and when the fingers loosen their grip on his hair he throws his entire weight into the opposite direction.

Kyouya pays not mind to Shirokawa's curse, the ringing in his ears or his aching head, but tries to get his feet underneath him – his ankle screams in white-hot pain, but he is half-way up, when fingers close around his arm and the world tilts abruptly.

Then Shirokawa is kneeling above him, one large hand splayed on his bare chest, keeping him down - and Kyouya aimes a kick directly at Shirokawa's balls. It connects, and the shrill howl echoes off the bare walls, yet a violent slap across his cheek makes Kyouya see stars and fall back down again. A second blow catches him in the ribs – and for a moment he can only lie there winded, gasping for breath, feeling something warm trickle down his cheek.

"Don't," wheezes Shirokawa, "Don't ever try that again."

Like hell, Kyouya vows to himself – but even his inner voice sounds shaky. He is no match for Shirokawa physically, and –

It does not bear to think about.

"I knew you would be hard to convince," says Shirokawa, regaining his composure, "But don't ever do this again, really. You'll only regret it later, Kyouya."

The only thing to regret was actually having taken Shirokawa serious. (No, a mocking voice whispered, exactly the other way round: he has failed to take Shirokawa seriously enough. He had – willfully (he had had all the info, he had even drawn the conclusion) – ignored what he should have known. This one he has screwed up all by himself).

"Well, I guess you'll just learn. For now, relax. It will be fun, I promise," Shirokawa crouches down next to Kyouya who is still curled protectively around his ribs.

Maybe a second kick to his balls will drive him off?

"You need to let go of those rules they teach you. You know what I mean – what society teaches you to stop you from thinking. Drop the mask, Kyouya, and be yourself. I know who you really are – and that you will enjoy this," Shirokawa's voice trembles, "I know what you really want. And I'm going to do this for you – so you can stop pretending. I know what you really want. I know it, Kyouya."

And then there are hands undoing his trousers, and something in his mind snaps.

Kyouya lashes out with his injured leg, catches something – a shout, something heavy goes down with a loud smash; he tumbles away, mindless of the strain on his body. Then a large hand grasps his head, and smashes it against the ground.

The world is gone instantly.

* * *

The cellar door stands no chance against the combined assault from both Hunny and Mori. Haruhi barely has even reached the corridor, when it is blasted from its hinges. Tamaki drops the useless key immediately, rushes forward – there is a shout, Haruhi sees Hikaru falter, then another sound – flesh on flesh – and then she stumbles through the doorway herself, completely out of breath.

In a corner rests the large, unmoving and worse-for-wear shape of Shirokawa – in his undershirt – with Hunny standing over him, his expression hidden from Haruhi. The aura emanating from the small blond alone betrays of unimaginable horror.

Somewhere to her left Tamaki, Mori and Kaoru are kneeling – Hikaru a step behind them, consternation written plainly on his chalk-white face. Kyouya's limp body is hidden from her view by Tamaki – all she sees are his feet, and he is missing one shoe.

Tamaki tosses something aside – and Haruhi spies blood on the ground. Her heart skips a beat.

"Hikaru," Kaoru glances over his shoulder, "Inform the chairman. Make sure nobody else comes down here. And … get a camera."

Haruhi flinches. But she understands – they need evidence against Shirokawa. Otherwise…

Then Tamaki leans back to shrug off his jacket, and Haruhi sees Kyouya's face. Whatever peaceful expression he might be wearing was distorted by a dark bruise on his cheek, and blood running down from his forehead. And his shirt is undone.

"A doctor," she hears herself say, "Call an ambulance."

At this Mori looks up – he is massaging a limp hand – and shakes his head.

"Let the chairman arrange for a private doctor," says Kaoru.

When Haruhi seems about to protest, Hunny speaks up from the other side of the room. "It's okay, Haru-chan. Any private doctor will be here just as fast as an ambulance."

"And what do you think would happen if some newspaper or reporter got wind of this?" asks Kaoru, while Hikaru hurries from the room.

She swallows. Regardless of what actually occurred – she can see Kyouya hell-bent on keeping this from the public. And she does not even want to think about long-term consequences.

Her gaze returns to Kyouya's face. Speaking of consequences –

Tamaki tilts his head thoughtfully, one hand resting gently on Kyouya's shoulder, and his blazer is already draped over Kyouya's chest. "Mori-senpai, do you think we can move him out of here?"

Mori's brow wrinkles, before he gives a nod. Haruhi feels like sighing in relief.

"Then go – I think waking up somewhere else might be good for Kyou-chan. Maybe the sitting room on the first floor would be nice," says Hunny, "And don't worry about Shirokawa. I'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere before the chairman arrives."

The smile on Hunny's face has all instincts in Haruhi scream at her to run away.

Kaoru apparently lacks those instincts. "I'll stay with you, then. You make sure senpai gets treatment."

With another silent nod Mori carefully lifts Kyouya in his arms – Tamaki right next to him. And when Haruhi catches sight of one arm, limply swinging down, the pale fingers bruised and bloodied, she can't help thinking of how this is like a train-wreck: there is nothing she can do, yet she can not look away.

* * *

It turns out there is something she can do, after all.

Making sure the corridors are empty is neither challenging nor requiring special courage, but she understands all too well that Kyouya would hate for anybody to see him like this. Luckily, nobody remains at school long after hours – and even the cleaning staff stays out of sight.

Still she is relieved when they reach the sitting room Hunny has suggested. Mori gently deposits Kyouya on one of the oversized couches, and Haruhi wonders if she has actually ever been to this room before.

Tamaki closes the door, and after a moment of silence Haruhi dares to ask. "How is he?"

Mori glances up – once again massaging a limp hand. However it is Tamaki who answers. "Not seriously hurt physically. But Haruhi, you know…" He trails off, and Haruhi's heart aches at his distracted manner.

Kyouya-senpai is strong, she tells herself.

But in face of what has happened – what on earth is going to happen now?

A movement from the couch draws her from her morose contemplations.

"Kyouya?" Tamaki asks softly.

An unintelligible murmur is his only reply. Tamaki sits down on the couch, replacing Mori on some silent agreement. The older student makes for the door, sitting down on a chair close to it – close enough to keep it shut.

Very carefully Tamaki reaches out and touched Kyouya's shoulder. "Wake up," he says.

Haruhi holds her breath. There is no harsh reaction. Instead Kyouya blinks, disoriented for a moment – then his eyes widen. Yet there is no outward reaction but for his eyes and a sudden intake of air, and then Kyouya lets his head drop back on the couch.

"Tamaki?" he asks after a moment.

"Yes?" Tamaki, Haruhi notes, has not withdrawn his hand from Kyouya's shoulder. And the other has not shrugged it off either. Instead he flexes his fingers – for the first time Haruhi can see bloody abrasions circling his wrists.

"Who else?" Kyouya's voice is soft, but not trembling.

Tamaki bites his lip. "The host club, only. Mori and Haruhi are here, too. Hunny and Kaoru stayed downstairs. Hikaru went to inform my father."

At this, Kyouya allows himself a grimace, before opening his eyes to look at Tamaki.

"My father, " Tamaki continues calmly, "will arrange for a private doctor. You probably sprained your ankle, and that head injury may need stitches."

"I see," says Kyouya.

"Also, the school is legally obligated to contact your family," says Tamaki, and at this Kyouya frowns darkly.

"But you shouldn't worry about that," says Tamaki, "We'll take care of everything. Just rest, and leave everything to us."

Tamaki's smile is heart-wrenching – and Kyouya obediently closes his eyes again.

* * *

When Kyouya's breathing has evened out – something, that Tamaki thinks, happened far too easy considering what just occurred – Tamaki lets his calm façade slip. There is no need to hide what he feels from Haruhi or Mori (and both are too occupied with their own thoughts to notice).

There is a bewildering knot of feelings locked in his chest (and he is afraid of trying to unravel it). He does not know what to think or feel – he only is glad Kyouya did not reject his touch – which is probably selfish in a way – but there is nothing more relieving that touch.

To him, that is. And a very dark corner of his mind wishes Shirokawa nothing but hell unleashed.

Doubly so, when he sees bloodstains on his own hands, on Kyouya's shirt, and on his own clothes. The makeshift bandage Mori applied to Kyouya's head injury already has turned red, and blood is spreading on the couch.

(He knows head injuries bleed a lot – but he wishes a doctor would soon arrive).

Tamaki grits his teeth – the blood summons fresh memories. And he does not want to remember Kyouya on the ground, motionless like a puppet whose strings have been severed (Or where Shirokawa had his hands when they first burst through the door).

The thought of what almost happened (would have, had Hikaru and Kaoru not gone snooping) makes him feel sick. (And horribly, horribly guilty. He calls himself Kyouya's best friend, so how did he miss this? How can he claim to be a friend at all when he wouldn't have even noted the developments unfolding right under his nose?)

There are dozens of other aspects to consider as well – yet Tamaki's mind is frozen in place. He can't quite move past this near-miss (but does this even count as a near-miss? After all, something happened.)

At least the practical things he can handle. This will, he senses, need delicate treatment - not only due to the nature of this … incident (how to call it?), but also due to the parties involved. Privacy is a valuable good where paparazzi are waiting to hear a needle drop; and Kyouya would hate for this to known beyond the sphere of those already involved.

(Kyouya did not want his own father to know, either, and Tamaki understands his reasoning far better than he likes. A part of his wants to believe that Kyouya errs in this – but he has already seriously misjudged one situation today; there is no need to add to this track record.)

Kyouya shifts faintly in his sleep, and Tamaki sighs.

There is a vulnerability to his friend (he knows it's because Kyouya is asleep and his face is bruised), which is completely out of place. Then again, Tamaki has been able to glimpse behind that cool and collected mask -

It's subconscious, but Tamaki finds himself reaching for Kyouya's hand. The abrasions around the wrist have stopped bleeding, but look exceedingly painful, and for a split second he wonders just what Kyouya experienced during those moments with Shirokawa.

(Projecting onto the past in this case is better than projecting into the future.)

Then there is a short knock on the door, and Mori is on his feet the moment Hikaru enters. He's out of breath, pale and his voice is flat when he says:

"The chairman is going to be here in a few minutes."

Tamaki squeezes Kyouya's hand before letting go. He wonders how his father (indeed, how all the adults involved) will react – because in the end, it may appear nothing happened.

But to Tamaki (and he is certain the rest of the club will agree) something did.

_tbc_

* * *

_If you have any suggestions or comments, please feel free to share them with me. ^_^ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own OHSHC.

**AN**: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! It always makes my day to know people actually enjoy reading what my mind comes up with. ^_^

**Note**: This chapter is more on the contemplative side, which means characters may entertain thoughts that may or may not appear ooc. Their actions are not meant to be ooc – this merely represents my guess at how they might react to the situation created in this fic.

On further note: Kyouya's father makes an appearance – and in this he is based on what we saw of him in the manga. Which is not much, but especially one of the later chapters made me believe that he may not win "father of the year" at any time, but he does love his children (though is not too good at showing it). Which is the interpretation I'm using here.

* * *

**Miscalculation**

III

While Tamaki is watching Kyouya sleep upstairs, Kaoru casts a contemplative gaze at Shirokawa's unmoving form. He can't say he's feeling angry – not the way Hunny is, with every muscle in his body tense. Which is not to say he won't be feeling furious two hours or two days from now, but right now it's all a bit of a blur.

And staring at Shirokawa (who really does not look like a person you'd expect to do anything so - sick) does not provide answers. It's like there's a violent rip going right through his perception of the world. On one side there's what Kaoru sees and has seen, which is Shirokawa being clingy, but nice, with a somewhat self-depreciating grin – and what he knows (and saw: a purchase list revealing an obsession, a violent attempted assault).

(He feels the world should be changed. But it remains untouched.)

Yet, once his mind leaves the schizophrenia, there are other questions.

"Could we have known?" is the question echoing – and for a moment Kaoru is about to ask Hunny. Because, even if one of them knew (or suspected), nobody said a word. And wasn't Kyouya the one in their group who was good at figuring out these things.

The resulting equation ought to be: if Kyouya had not foreseen this, nobody of them had had a chance.

But that, Kaoru feels, is not the entire truth. For all that they are guileless high-school students and teenagers, there are layers to their actions, depending on social status, joint ventures and marriage politics. So even if Kyouya had known, he may not have spoken up due to a business connection between his and Shirokawa's family.

Then again, business or not, Kyouya is no push-over. And even for business reasons, he rarely gets closer to anybody than strictly necessary – he'd never have let himself be coerced by Shirokawa (and this makes Kaoru feel a little better).

Which meant, just as them, Kyouya had not expected Shirokawa to act as he did.

"What is going to happen to him?" Kaoru asks, nodding into Shirokawa's direction.

Hunny glances to him – the short blond still has a dark look on his face - and curls his lips in distaste. "That depends."

* * *

Haruhi is deeply lost in her own contemplations, when a sharp knock on the door echoes through the room. She is on his feet moments later – only to see Mori already standing, letting the chairman and a stranger in a white coat enter.

She bows, but nobody takes notice of her. The chairman pulls Tamaki aside – both Suou's look unsettled – while the doctor sets out to check his injuries. Kyouya remains asleep for this – for the better, Haruhi thinks.

Meanwhile Tamaki is struggling to put into words what has occurred this afternoon – he frequently gestures over to Kyouya, and his father is steadily growing paler. Haruhi watches the conversation from her chair next to the window (night is falling fast, outside).

She jumps in surprise, when Hikaru drops in a chair next to hers.

"You should go home," says Hikaru eventually.

Haruhi tilts her head. "I messaged dad to let him know I'd be late."

"We have a test in geography tomorrow," says Hikaru, then snorts silently, "Then again, I don't think I could concentrate on that, either."

She wonders if she ought to point out that he is wrong. Haruhi is very able to focus, even if shocking things happen (studying is, actually, one of her methods to cut herself off from emotionally straining subjects). But maybe that's only her.

So they both sit in silence, watching how the chairman eventually straightens up, pats Tamaki's shoulder and heads for the couch. Whatever words are exchanged between Suou Yuzuru and the doctor (Minami-sensei, employed at one of the prestigious hospitals owned by the Ootori family, flown in by helicopter) are unheard, and it leaves Haruhi with the very strange sensation of watching a silent movie – one where she has to guess the lines.

Suou Yuzuru casts a glance at Kyouya (still pale, though now his injuries have been bandaged and the blood cleaned from his face), before nodding and leaving the room, mobile phone in hand. Tamaki drifts back to his former position, but remains standing – his place next to Kyouya has been taken by the doctor.

* * *

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Shirokawa mutters, moments after having quietly woken up. Neither Kaoru nor Hunny had said anything, just watched him sit back against the wall, rubbing his head.

Hunny's hands ball into fists – Shirokawa does not notice.

"This was not supposed to happen," he repeats, looking sad, "I didn't want things to go like this."

Kaoru can't help but raise an eyebrow. (Because, honestly? Just how did Shirokawa think this would turn out?)

"I…," undaunted, Shirokawa carries on, "I wanted him to be happy, you know. Because I …"

Hunny takes a step forward, and Shirokawa flinches, falls silent. But only for a short moment.

"Is he alright?"

Neither Hunny nor Kaoru answers.

"Because I didn't want him to get hurt. I really did not… I know I did a shitty job of that, but sometimes it's so frustrating. When, you know, it could be all so very easy. If he just wasn't so stubborn… and I did not have that horrible temper," what follows is a dry, self-depreciating chuckle that grates on Kaoru's nerves more than nails on chalkboard, "But I was really only trying to do what was best for us. You see, I…"

"Shut up," says Hunny, and even without raising his voice, the command is like a whiplash. Kaoru unconsciously straightens up, but Shirokawa is only temporarily silent.

"No, really. You guys don't know him like I do – you only see him in school and during that odd club of yours. I've known him for some years now, and even though we mainly meet at company events – believe me, I've tried to meet him at other times as well, but his schedule would kill any lesser man – and we get along really well, so I do know what is good for him. I know that sounds odd, but I do, and…"

Kaoru frowns. With each word Shirokawa utters, he sounds more like an obsessive stalker. Just one lucky enough to hide his intentions for a long time.

"Why then," he asks (he does not want to engage Shirokawa in conversation, but this does not leave him alone), "if you are claiming to do what Kyouya-senpai wanted – why were you doing something he obviously did not want?"

Shirokawa blinks. "But he did."

* * *

Suou Yuzuru sighs when the door falls shut behind him. There are calls he needs to make, and he is looking forward to none of them.

For a moment he stares at his mobile, his fingers hovering over a number he has never needed to dial before. (He does not want to involve the police. The damage to Ouran's image is the least of his concerns – but he knows the moment the police know, the press knows, too. And the resulting consequences he does not want to bring about. )

Usually he'd ask to borrow the Ootori private police force – but they'd be compromised in this, owing to Kyouya's involvement (and even if Suzuru is certain Ootori Yoshio is capable of making objective decisions even if family members are involved (a capacity he does not know if he ought to envy or despise)). There are other families with their own security teams – but he needs somebody trustworthy. Maybe somebody already involved –

He'll ask the young Haninozuka, then. He could have asked the Morinozuka heir as well, but he'd forgotten back then. Those families ought to be able to arrange for somebody to clean up – Yuzuru directs his steps toward the cellar.

Next, he needs to call Shirokawa's father. He doesn't know the man, which makes it a little easier, but he needs to know if he wants his son shipped home or taken into custody. There's no way Yuzuru is allowing him back to Ouran after what Tamaki told him.

One familiar number, and he asks his secretary to connect him to Shirokawa directly.

After this he still needs to call Yoshio.

* * *

At one point, the doctor (Minami-sensei or something) herds them outside. For one, Kyouya needs to rest, while they need to _talk about it_ (Haruhi hopes said doctor's expertise on injuries is better than his attempt at psychology) – but acknowledges that neither her, nor Hikaru's or Mori's presence is going to be of any help.

And neither is Tamaki's, as long as Kyouya is out cold. Though the doctor agrees to call them back in, the moment their friend wakes up.

Her wanderings take her and the others to Ouran's entry hall – where they witness the arrival of what appears to be an army unit. About twenty men, armed to their teeth, clad from head to toe in black march in, paying no attention to any of them.

Their leader bows in front of Mori, though, and Haruhi casts a questioning glance at Hikaru. Meanwhile, Mori directs the unit toward the cellar with a nod of his head.

Only when they have disappeared, Haruhi dares to ask who they were.

"I don't think they have an official name, do they, Mori-senpai?" Hikaru sets out, waits for the confirming nod, and continues: "They are part of the army – a special unit, though. But anyway, they've all been educated by the Haninozuka family and are loyal to them above all else."

He shrugs, and by now Haruhi has seen enough not to be surprised. Nor to give voice to the question wondering about just how democratic a country where certain families exert sizeable influence over the executive force (and probably the judicative as well) actually is. Also, she finds, if Shirokawa Kensuke ended up disappearing, she would not be shocked at all. (Neither, a dark part of her mind adds, would she be too upset).

They are speaking with the doctor (bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, five stitches for the head wound; but Kyouya was awake and they could see him in a moment), when a dark-haired man enters the corridor in front of the sitting room.

"Ootori-san!" Tamaki exclaims, jumping to his feet, while Haruhi blinks.

"Suou-kun," it was more a nod of the head, opposed to Tamaki's proper bow, "Your father called earlier. Where is Kyouya?"

Furthermore, Haruhi notes, the blazer is slightly rumpled. And the hair wind-swept.

And Tamaki is the only one in their group who keeps his countenance. "In here. Minami-sensei was just…"

But Ootori Yoshio brushes past Tamaki, the doctor and even Mori-senpai takes a step back and lets him pass. Nobody dares to speak a word – and so they hear Kyouya's surprised exclamation of "Father!" all too clearly.

Mori is quick to shut the door after that.

A while later the door eventually opens again, and Ootori-senior leaves the room, followed by Kyouya. His face is pale, and the collar of his white shirt blood-stained, but with Tamaki's blazer hiding most of those and a pair of glasses back on his nose, he looks disturbingly close to normal.

"Ootori-san," Suou senior has stood up immediately; the rest of the host club follow promptly, "I must deeply apologize for the incident that occurred at our school. I assure you, I will personally oversee the…"

Kyouya's father lifts a hand, and stalls the excuse with a shake of his head. "We thank you for your prompt actions. Everything else I would preferably discuss at a later point of time. Minami-san, I understand, you did the physical examination?"

The doctor in question nods.

"Do you have any objections against taking my son home at this point?" Yoshio's face is completely unreadable.

The doctor swallows. "None. I would recommend for Kyouya-kun not to stay alone tonight." He tries to catch Kyouya's eyes, but the dark-haired boy isn't looking at anybody right now.

Yoshio nods. "That is acceptable. Kyouya?"

Kyouya, Haruhi notices, does not even blink. Instead he faintly moves his head – and exchanges a glance with Tamaki. It's one of those rare moments that actually demonstrate just how real their friendship is; because not Kyouya, but Tamaki steps forward and speaks up.

"Ootori-san, if you don't mind, I would like to come along."

"Very well," says Yoshio.

* * *

It is late at night when Ootori Akito is woken up by a helicopter landing – literally – overhead. He fell asleep over a text book in their private library, which is located just underneath the helipad. Still, he wonders who is arriving.

Father is on a business trip in China, Yuuichi with his own family, Fuyumi vacationing somewhere in Northern Africa (nobody is entirely certain whether she is there for a political project, or merely for a vacation), and Kyouya probably typing away on his laptop at the other end of the house.

He is surprised when he encounters his father, Kyouya, Suou junior and a number of exhausted-looking, pale-faced staff members on the main staircase. Tachibana is half-carrying Kyouya (who has a bandage wrapped around his head, and looks just in general worse for wear) up, Tamaki trailing behind. Ootori Yoshio catches sight of Akito, and gestures for him to join them.

The short tale that follows, told in the clipped words of Ootori Yoshio, is nothing short of a nightmare.

His head is spinning, yet still blank. All he manages to ask is: "Does Fuyumi know yet?"

* * *

The hand of the clock has passed midnight ages ago, but Tamaki is unable to sleep. And the guest bed - put up by the Ootori household staff in Kyouya's room at short notice - is certainly everything but uncomfortable. Kyouya, too, basically passed out the moment his head hit the pillow, and had been operating on autopilot ever since leaving Ouran.

Tamaki can't help replaying today's events - and the weeks prior - in his head, over and over again, wondering why today had to happen as it did. Had they overlooked something? Not been careful enough? (and the thought of Kyouya on the floor, blood spreading around his head like a red nimbus makes his stomach roll dangerously.)

He does not want to think about what ifs - it is not helpful, to use Kyouya's own brand of logic - and hindsight is always twenty-twenty, anyway. What he wants is to sleep, and to be the perfect friend to Kyouya tomorrow. Especially, since tonight, for the first time, Tamaki experienced Ootori-sama's expectant gaze to rest on him. (and it is heavy to bear)

Though while Ootori-sama usually makes Tamaki nervous, those feelings vanished last(?) night. No matter how angry he may have been at the man for putting so much pressure on his youngest child, (for ordering to make friends based on business opportunities), the man left a conference in Shanghai seconds after receiving the chairman's phone call, reaching Ouran in under four hours (what, through legal channels, is probably impossible).

"Tamaki," a familiar voice cuts through his contemplations, "You're thinking too loud."

Tamaki jumps, then turns to look over with wide eyes. Kyouya is glaring at him with his head lifted from the pillow, but he lets it fall back the moment Tamaki receives the message.

"Sorry about that," he mutters.

"Never mind. Just go to sleep, otherwise you'll be even more useless than usual tomorrow," says Kyouya.

"We're excused from school tomorrow," replies Tamaki.

Kyouya is silent for a moment. "That is going to cause rumors."

"That shouldn't be a problem," says Tamaki. A heartbeat later he adds: "For now, nobody not related to the club is involved. Shirokawa was handled by a special ops force from Hunny's family. The tabloids won't find out, and neither will anybody at school."

"Let's hope so," Kyouya snorts, "But anyway, school or not, I still believe we ought to sleep."

"Sure," says Tamaki and they fall silent.

Tamaki has closed his eyes, before he opens them again. "Kyouya! You took me by surprise, so I completely forgot. Are you alright? The doctor left medication in case your head hurts or you just can't sleep."

Once again, he earns a glare for his efforts. "Tamaki. You are aware, I believe, that I do keep something for headaches in that drawer? Thus, if my head was indeed hurting, I would be perfectly capable of helping myself. And as for anything else – even if anything did happen, and you know as I do that nothing actually did – sleep would also be a good idea."

This time, Tamaki did not protest. Yet even when Kyouya's breathing had evened out, he couldn't sleep. Kyouya may have said nothing had happened. But in Tamaki's eyes, something had.

* * *

To say Fuyumi is furious is to say Antartica is a little cool.

Yoshio is secretly glad she is currently in Morocco, otherwise he might fear for his personal safety. As respectful she is, courtesy vanishes where Kyouya is concerned. (and if his late wife had lived, she would have summoned hell itself to make pay whoever let harm befall her precious, precious children).

To say, Ootori Yoshi is currently feeling like a failure is to call the Arabian peninsula's climate a bit warm. On top of it, it is four o'clock in the morning and his conference over in Shanghai is starting in four hours.

"... and did you not set him to it, father? How could you do that - did you forget to run a backup ground check? Or is that out of fashion now ? Ought Kyouya have done this himself? Because he is so grown up?" She had to pause to take a breath, "Oh, yes, indeed, since sixteen-year olds are known for their sense of judgment - since high-school students can be expected to act like PhD students. Really father, were you thinking at all?"

Yoshio gazes over to the latest family picture on his desk. Fuyumi is right, he knows, but she is also wrong. It is true he sometimes forgets Kyouya is ten years younger than his other children – but Kyouya also does his best to make him forget. And the boy is clever – he probably did a background check on Shirokawa.

And disregarded the results?

"Are you listening to me, father?" Fuyumi hisses, and he hurries to reply.

"I am," and before he can add anything else, Fuyumi continues.

"So, what are you going to do, now?"

He is surprised. "What can be done, naturally."

"Have you already picked a lawyer? Sasada-sensei is good, but he specializes in business, so maybe you ought to get somebody else for this," she carries on, sounding a little less angry for the moment.

Yet again, Yoshio feels floored. "None yet. I was going to wait until Kyouya decided whether or not to actually press charges…"

"You what?" Her voice jumps two octaves, "There should be no question at all! Kyouya's never going to press charges – what are you thinking? Especially if you were brilliant enough to mention a business connection – do you really think he's going to do something as … I don't know - risky as this by himself?"

One hour later Yoshio watches the sun creep over the horizon outside. He managed to convince Fuyumi not to fly over immediately, cancelled all his appointments for the day – and finally has a moment to think.

He needs to inform Yuuichi, but this can probably wait until his oldest son's family is getting up anyway. Suou-san told him yesterday both Tamaki and Kyouya were excused from school today, so this is one less call to make.

Which leaves time for his mind to wander.

Fuyumi only said what he had been thinking the entire evening – this may very well have been his own fault, and that nothing worse had occurred was only due to luck. Ootori Yoshio knows he is no model father – distant, strict and harboring high expectations. It may very well not have been quite the same for his other children, who had grown up with their mother to provide a softer counterpart – though they all had been too young when she had died.

His hand reaches for the drawer. There is picture of her, taken only weeks before her death, hidden away under a variety of papers and journals.

Tonight, he does not dare to look at it.

Maybe he will dare to do so tomorrow – once he has started owing up for his part in the disaster. At five in the morning this is a fact Yoshio can admit to – he ought to have made it clearer to Kyouya that not establishing a friendship would do no harm.

For a moment he wonders if his carelessness has not already caused Kyouya other encounters – ones he never has heard off, because if the chairman had not called, Yoshio is fairly certain his son would have kept him in the dark about what Shirokawa tried. With dread coiling in his stomach he tries to remember the names of all the persons he suggested to befriend – fortunately for him, they are not as many, half of them girls (he should not think in stereotypes, he reprimands himself, women are fairly capable of doing damage as well), and the most notable one, Tamaki, has turned out a true friend indeed.

Still, he has a responsibility to ask Kyouya tomorrow.

… if Kyouya is up to it, then. Kyouya may have been composed yesterday, but Yoshio recognized the signs of shock, and the trained doctor in him (though long out of practice, and never famous for his bedside manner, anyway) acknowledges that it may only be tomorrow (today) that things will really register.

He buries his head in his hands.

What has he done?

_tbc_

* * *

_Please feel free to share your opinion. ^_^_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own OHSHC.

**AN**: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! It always makes my day to know people actually enjoy reading what my mind comes up with. ^_^

On a further, somewhat unrelated note: I find Tamaki incredibly difficult to write. O.o

* * *

**Miscalculation**

**Part IV**

Aktio is nervous. He tries to hide by stirring his coffee, checking the news on his cell phone and reading the paper. However on his third attempt at figuring out what stocks in the US did last night, he is ready to give up.

Then the door opens and Kyouya and Tamaki trudge in – or limp, in Kyouya's case. Both look somewhat grumpy – then Kyouya catches sight of him. And while Kyouya greets him with his standard "good morning" (which always conveys that it is far too early to be even close to good), Tamaki's abrupt cheerful greeting is like a supernova.

(In other words, too bright and Akito is left feeling a bit dazed.)

Only moments after Kyouya and Tamaki have sat down, a maid carries over a tray holding a wild assortment of breakfast options – covering about everything from French croissants to Japanese rice porridge and grilled fish. Akito lingers, hiding behind his paper, and the atmosphere feels stiff for a moment.

Then he clears his throat. "Kyouya, are you okay?"

Kyouya glances up. "Sure."

"I mean, your head injury…"

With an audible clink, Kyouya sets down the butter knife. "Tamaki made certain to wake me up every two hours."

The blond nods enthusiastically. Akito, adding the sideway glare Kyouya had cast to his friend into the equation, realizes that the Suou heir may have been a bit overenthusiastic in his task. Which may well account for the fact that both are sporting shadows underneath their eyes.

Those, Akito recalls, and the injuries Kyouya sports are the only reminders of what occurred the day before. It is … bewildering how normality has resettled almost instantly. Just by looking at them and their surroundings, it is impossible to even guess anything so horrid has ever happened.

Lost in his contemplations, he misses what Tamaki says, and only hears Kyouya snipe back: "The next time I'll just stay up the entire night. It'd be far more productive, too."

"But Kyouya," Tamaki returns, "You need to relax! If we stay up the entire night, we should play video games or watch movies."

"No, absolutely …" Akito glances over his paper when Kyouya stops in the middle of his sentence. Instead of an expression of terror or anything similar, there is a sharp, calculating glint in Kyouya's eyes.

"Actually, Tamaki, this may be a brilliant project for the Host Club. Very cost-efficient, too."

Akito decides then to quietly leave the scene – he needs to rejoin his medical text books, anyway. But it's odd, in a fashion, how normal they all act. Perhaps he is an overly concerned older sibling (not a trait he'd usually associate with himself), but he feels he should be able to at least guess that something (almost) happened to Kyouya the day before.

However, there's absolutely nothing to be picked up from the way his little brother is acting.

* * *

Kyouya is not surprised to be summoned to his father's office (not the main, representative one, but the one he knows his father favors in summer since it has a nice view over the gardens) after a late breakfast. He is almost a bit annoyed had people walking on egg shells all around him - the examination this morning he understood, and Tamaki looked as if he needed to be reassured as well - but Aktio inquiring after his well-being during breakfast (actually concerned) was a bit much.

He knocks, and is asked to come in moments later.

Ootori Yoshio is signing a number of sheets, and gestures for him to sit down in one of the armchairs. Surprisingly, his father joins him on another one a heartbeat later.

"How are you?" he asks after a moment of silence.

Kyouya, knowing the questions's motive, considers. But there is really no other honest answer but "fine". His ribs are smarting at certain movements, but neither the head wound or the abrasions on his wrists are causing him pain. Well, the ankle is a bit of a hindrance.

"Your head?" Yoshio asks, studying his son's features intently.

Kyouya finds the attention slightly unsettling, but keeps his head erect and his features smooth. "It isn't bothering me."

They both know that concussions rarely come with anything less than a headache, but Kyouya isn't willing admit to feeling less than perfect (and Yoshio, who is perhaps guilty of teaching him to do so, wouldn't know how to deal with it, anyway).

His father raises an eyebrow, and sighs. "If you say so. I believe you are educated enough on the subject to contact the proper channel, if necessary?"

Kyouya nods.

"If I may ask, was there anything that would have ... anticipated that incident? Was Shirokawa acting strange previously?"

Kyouya glances up and sees nothing but honest interest and concern on his father's face - and has no idea how to reply to the question. Does his father want to know if he missed something? Or details on Shirokawa's behavior?

He is stumped, so he slowly shakes his head. "No, there was no indication."

Which is not exactly untrue. Shirokawa had been acting odd - but no different from a girl with a crush, and certainly not remarkably so compared to other of Kyouya's acquaintances. And he did not expect to be attacked by any of them either (does not, really).

Yoshio swallows. "Well, in any case. If, in the future, anybody I suggest you befriend, does act in any way suspicious, do exercise caution. Please do not endanger yourself in order to secure the friendship of fellow student whose parents may be our future business partners - there are numerous other ways of establishing contact."

Kyouya manages to retain control of his expression, though his eyes widen a little.

"Also in that vein, I have to ask if something similar has ever occurred before?"

The emotion in his father's eyes is indeed concern. Honest concern for his well-being - and while Kyouya knows he looks pathetic with bandages around his head and wrists and a crutch leaning against his chair, this is not what he expected.

Still, he replies promptly: "No, never."

Yoshio's inquisitive gaze lingers. "Well, should anybody ever attempt something comparable, no matter who it is, I want you to tell me immediately. Also, on the matter of Shirokawa, I believe we will be pressing charges - privately of course."

Kyouya blinks. "I, ah, I thought ..."

He trails off. Not to question his father's decisions is one lesson each of the Ootori children has learned early on in life.

Yoshio leans forward, looking curious. "What would you have decided?"

Kyouya sits up straight. "Not to press charges. Nothing can be gained from it after all."

(And the risk of having the affair leaked to the press and business associates is far too high. He does not want to think of consequences should this happen. This is too risky, considering nothing actually happened.)

His father frowns. "Kyouya, what Shirokawa attempted is considered a criminal act in about every country in the world. This is not about gaining anything."

Nothing happened, Kyouya wants to say out loud, all he sustained are some bruises - how can that be punishable by law?

Apparently, he is transparent - his father leans forward and carefully (and awkwardly, considering he has never been very affectionate with his children and this is uncharted territory to him) takes one of Kyouya's hands in his own.

"In this case, the criminal act is not so much determined by the outcome, as by the intent. Further, the act was planned, indicating that Shirokawa actively sought to commit it," he can see Kyouya thinking, though he is very, very stiff.

Yoshio sighs to himself, and gives Kyouya's hand a squeeze before letting go of it. "There are some things more important than joint ventures and good connections," he says, aware it is a non-sequitur, yet hoping Kyouya will see what he means, "This is one of them."

* * *

Tamaki is waiting outside, and Kyouya's head is still spinning from his father's words. Maybe the lack of sleep got to him (though Kyouya has known his father to stay awake for 50 hours without even appearing visibly tired), but his father looked, of all things, deeply shaken.

By something that did not happen?

It is like having all the pieces of the puzzle, yet not being able to fit them together. Normally, Kyouya would mull over it until he finds the solution - this time, he feels the solution will come to him (and he may not like it). In the mean time is has to convince Tamaki that he is very capable of handling the staircases in his own home, thank you very much, and how about they start on homework anyway?

* * *

Once Kyouya has left the room - obviously already used to the crutches - Yoshio takes off his glasses, and feels like crying for the first time since his wife died.

To think, that to his youngest child, a business connection is a possible fair trade for (he has to name it, even if his insides revolt) for sexual or other favors. He dreads to imagine what could have happened (not that he knows, and he desperately wants to believe Kyouya when he says nothing comparable ever occurred before) - but he knows that there is a number of shady characters mingling on every other large party, and also a number of respectable members of society with ... questionable tastes (he needs to stop with these euphemism. At least in his own head he ought to be able to name what he sees).

And that is the crux of the problem: he knows what is unacceptable, even for the sake of money (and knows a lot of euphemism for these things that have already, subconsciously, influenced his language), but apparently this distinction is not obvious to Kyouya. (And how could it be, when he himself has never spoken clearly on the matter, to the point that he uses euphemisms even in his own head).

For all he has already done wrong in the upbringing of his children, this is probably his greatest failure.

* * *

Tamaki stays the next night as well (after having promised not to wake Kyouya up, either during the night or the following morning). The practical side effect is, that communication with the rest of the Host Club, as well as Ouran's chairman can be delegated to him – Kyouya is annoyed enough after handling worried calls from Fuyumi and Yuichi; and as he isn't the most communicative being in regards to himself most of the time, he prefers to let Tamaki reassure everybody that he's quite alright, thank you very much.

That is until he overhears Tamaki telling Haruhi: "… I'll be back to class on Monday. Kyouya may not be – it probably won't be a good idea for him to be around so many people that soon."

Tamaki's good intentions earn him a slap on the head with their math textbook (not overly hard, lest those remaining few brain cells perish) and Kyouya takes hold of the phone.

"No, no, Tamaki's fine, Haruhi," he reassured, while Tamaki rubs his head and whines under his breath, "He walked into a door, that's all. You know how he is."

Haruhi is not exactly convinced, Tamaki pouts at him from where he sits (next to Kyouya on the couch, and therefore quite some distance from the next door. However, he has, on occasion, walked into selfsame door) and Kyouya smirks in return. "Don't worry, we should both arrive at school tomorrow in one piece. I'll watch out for the idiot."

Once the phone is stored away (Haruhi, at this point, convinces herself that while she may not exactly trust Tamaki or Kyouya with the other's mental safety, the Ootori household staff is probably capable enough), Kyouya wants to turn back to the task at hand. Their math homework may not be particularly difficult or challenging, but it simply is much, and needs to be done.

Tamaki however casts a concerned glance at him; the earlier dramatic interlude forgotten.

"Is it really alright?" Tamaki inquires, "Going back to school on Monday?"

"Why not?" asks Kyouya (who doesn't want to be having this conversation).

Tamaki frowns down at his math homework. "Well, maybe it would be better for you to rest one more day?"

"While I would appreciate another chance to sleep in," Kyouya answers, "I do not see any other benefits in that."

"I was just thinking so many people might make you uncomfortable," says Tamaki and tears his eyes from the pages of his textbook, looking straight at Kyouya instead, "After what happened…"

Kyouya purses his lips and sits up a little straighter. "While that may indeed be a possible consequence if anything had happened, Tamaki, please remember nothing of that sort has happened to me."

Tamaki blinks. "Eh? Then what…"

"Shirokawa made the attempt," clarifies Kyouya while pushing his glasses up his nose, "But he did not succeed. And while what he attempted to do would have been terrible indeed, well, in the end, nothing happened."

Contrary to Kyouya's expectations, Tamaki's frown does not vanish.

"Maybe," the blond allows, "But even if Shirokawa didn't succeed, something did happen, Kyouya. And that was not nothing."

Kyouya swallows and has to look away. Tamaki has that uncanny ability to see right through him, and currently he feels like he is being x-rayed by those wide eyes. However, as right as Tamaki usually is at those moments, Kyouya believes he still is wrong in this.

"I don't mean it like that," says Kyouya, "What I mean is, while I did walk away with some bruises, nothing traumatizing occurred."

Tamaki does not argue, so they turn back to their math homework. However, even if Kyouya claims not be, Tamaki does feel shell-shocked and traumatized at what almost happened. And if he is, shouldn't Kyouya be feeling it as well? Even just a little?

Maybe this is just what makes the two of them different, but Tamaki is rarely wrong. And so he tells himself to stay at Kyouya's side a little longer – until he can be certain his friend is as happy and healthy as he proclaims to be.

* * *

On Monday, at school, Kyouya fends of numerous concerned and curious questions about his crutch with a patient smile, and a story of how he had a misunderstanding with a staircase on Saturday. The rest of the Host Club watches in silence (they do not like the lies, but this is a tale that cannot be told.)

During lunch break he wanders past the staircase leading down into the cellar.

For a moment the memories surface – absurdly intense. Then, with a shake of the head, Kyouya banishes them. Stairs are just stairs.

And while there is a lot of talk in popular literature on how places and objects can become tied to a certain memory, in his case there is no reason. After all, nothing happened down there. (He wonders if he ought to go downstairs, just to prove this to himself).

Then Tamaki waves for him to come over, and these thoughts are set aside.

In the evening, he notices his hand shaking, and, well, dinner does not really agree with him. Probable sleep deprivation and exhaustion – those symptoms are nothing new or unfamiliar.

On Tuesday he silently curses each and every staircase in existence – his still-healing ankle makes every single one a challenge of its own, especially when the time between classes is limited. In response, Tamaki wordlessly carries Kyouya's things, while at home Akito and Tachibana fend for the title of the most over-attentive household member. (Kyouya draws a line at being carried. He can climb stairs just fine, thank you very much, he only takes two times as long as usual).

The novelty of his crutch is fading, and as such the concerned inquiries also ebb away. He is glad that he already exchanged the bandage over the stitches on his head for a smaller plaster (well-concealed by his hair, and scheduled to come off tomorrow). The wounds on his wrists will take longer to fade, but fixing his shirt cuffs to the bandages ensures those stay out of sight.

He may have to see about getting his Host Club costume adjusted likewise.

On that note, the club resumes business this afternoon with fairly down-to-earth cosplay (for them, anyhow), involving long-sleeved kimono. He is grateful, since this way his ankle is spared and all other injuries remain hidden. On top of that, he can tell the entire club is watching out for him.

(Shirokawa was withdrawn from school immediately. All inquiries about him directed at Kyouya are skillfully misdirected, reflected, rerouted and utterly distracted by whichever host club member is currently at his side.)

Yet he is utterly exhausted by the time he gets home.

There is homework to be done, the host club schedule to be arranged, bookings to be made, cash flows to be calculated and the rest of his usual workload awaiting his attention. In between he is expected for dinner with father and Akito – restricting his already tight schedule further.

For a moment he merely stands in his room, staring at the fish in the large tank unconcernedly swim on their way. He feels pressured in a way he has not quite felt before –

- and then, for a moment, he is back in the cellar, with Shirokawa leaning close, leering and saying things Kyouya knows he ought to forget. A phantom pressure ghosts over his wrists, and he sinks down on the corner of an armchair, suddenly dizzy.

It makes no sense for him to be feeling this way.

The experience was unpleasant, but nothing happened. Those bruises are fading – a week from now the stitches as well as the crutch will be gone, and with it he ought to be able to cast away the memory entirely.

His breathing is shaky, and it is ridiculous, really.

Nothing happened. He just spent an hour (it felt like much longer) with a psychologically deranged fellow student. Who attempted to -

Kyouya realizes in this split second he ought not to have thought it -

- to rape him.

His breath hitches.

Something in his mind crumbles, and Kyouya instinctively knows wherever this leads, it is not a good place. So under his last rational power he walks away from his perch and locks himself in his bathroom.

The face reflected back at him in the mirror is white as chalk, and wide-eyed. A shadow of his composure remains, but for the first time in forever Kyouya thinks he looks young and frightened -

- for no good reason. Nothing happened, even though the rest of world is making a big hubbub of it. Shirokawa's plan did not succeed; if anything Kyouya is the one who managed to keep him off...

... Until, at least, Shirokawa knocked him out again.

He swallows, leans back against the tiled wall and slowly lets himself slide down. There is cold sweat forming on his head (he hates how it makes his hair stick), his heart races and his ankle throbs.

If the Host Club had not figured things out - if he had woken, still alone with Shirokawa -

He would have continued fighting him off.

Still, Shirokawa was stronger. And Kyouya's movements had been restricted. And Shirokawa may have not waited until he regained consciousness at all...

Suddenly there are tears on his face, and he can't breathe. A part of his mind thinks that at least there is over an hour until dinner, hopefully enough time to recover from this unnecessary bout of hysterics.

Then it's all walls closing in, and desperation like he never felt it before (consciously. It tastes familiar, however, like lying in an out of the way cellar room, hands tied and facing an obsessed and delusional fellow student). He knows he must not think of this - but for now there is stopping this torrent of thoughts.

For a split second (before his rational side has time to catch up) he wants to call Tamaki.

Then he pushes this notion aside - he can work through this on his own. While attempting to stop the tears and calm his breathing, Kyouya reconsiders.

The events left him far more shaken than expected (or warranted, though perhaps not so to the rest of the world). Usually, assault victims are recommended seeing a counselor - which he would avoid, seeing as appointments of this time may come back to haunt him in the future (who on earth would want a CEO with issues?)

Treatment with a professional is out of question - but he can attempt it on his own. What do they always recommend? Talking about it (the notion is uncomfortable, even if Kyouya is fairly certain he has friends willing to listen and be discreet. If recent events are to be believed, even his father and brothers would do so); confronting the memory (which means either facing Shirokawa or heading down into the cellar. The latter will be easily accomplished - preferably before the end of the week - the former will draw too much attention); writing things down (well, he is not usually one to express himself that way, but paper is easy-to-destroy evidence, and he may very well try).

Once he has washed his face, brushed his hair and straightened his collar, Kyouya leaves his bathroom with a new determination. Since nothing happened, he shouldn't even be getting upset.

Since however his mind appears to be more affected, he will deal with it. Discreetly, and with as little outside involvement as possible.

_tbc_

* * *

_Thank you for reading this far; and please feel free to share your thoughts with me. ^_~  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own OHSHC.

**AN**: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! It always makes my day to know people actually enjoy reading what my mind comes up with. ^_^ Also, I am traveling at the moment and will be for some more weeks, and this may affect updates, writing style and editing.

* * *

**Miscalculation – Part V**

Tamaki thinks Kyouya looks a little better on Wednesday morning.

The differences are subtle - probably nothing the eye can see, since even Hunny remarked on Monday that Kyou-chan was looking far too calm (and Tama-chan needs to make sure he deals with what happened instead of ignoring it as he is Daddy). Tamaki doesn't quite know how he can tell, but his intuition is rarely of where Kyouya is concerned.

That does not mean he is going to let Kyouya wander around school alone. Especially when he still is leaning quite heavily on his crutch.

When Kyouya heads straight for the cellar during lunch break, Tamaki slows them down.

"What ... why are you going there?"

Kyouya turns, and Tamaki is amazed at the determination he reads in those dark eyes. And that there is a faint quirk on his lips.

"I think this may be a good idea," Kyouya informs him, and the statement is so atypical Tamaki can't help raising both eyebrows (for this moment, their roles appear to have been reversed).

"Pertinent literature suggests re-visiting certain places as a strategy," Kyouya says, and Tamaki nods.

The cellar itself has not changed at all, and is, to be honest, dull. No dark corners, no left over splotches of blood – it is as clean as the rest of Ouran, fairly well lit, and the only thing Kyouya feels a reaction to is the heavy door.

He pushes his glasses up his nose and proceeds to open it (Tamaki has probably noted the moment of hesitation, but will not mention it). The room beyond is as boring as the corridor – clean, bright and Kyouya realizes that his lack of glasses (and the smacking his head had taken) probably distorted his vision at that time.

For a moment his breath catches – then he senses Tamaki standing right next to him, and when the blond rests a hand gently on his shoulder, Kyouya's heart begins to calm (strange how he never noticed his pulse starting to race in the first place).

"You know," says Tamaki later on the same day, when they're settling things after club, "What do you think about getting out that Kotatsu and having a sleepover this weekend?"

Kyouya smiles in response (yes, company is okay, and he is not afraid of sharing close quarters with a fellow student. Especially if it is Tamaki, but there's nothing wrong with putting it to a test and finding out if his tolerance has shifted) and agrees.

* * *

Lessons have finished, when Tamaki and Kyouya are accosted by Kuze on their way to a Host Club meeting.

"Hey, Ootori," greets their senior, already decked out in his football uniform, "Maybe you want to consider joining a sports club? It does help with balance, you know."

He gestures at the crutch Kyouya is still using (much to his own frustration). Tamaki takes a step forward, cheeks slightly flushed - while Kyouya officially got hurt by falling down a staircase, he can stand seeing Kuze, who has no idea what really happened, mock him for that.

"That's not what..."

"While sports may indeed help with balance, I do recall seeing you do fairly impressive roll down the main staircase here, just a month ago or so. So maybe you should consider taking up ballet," says Kyouya, shutting Tamaki up mid-sentence.

Kuze, naturally, is less than pleased. "At least I did not hurt myself."

"You were not carrying anything either, so that was not too hard," replies Kyouya without missing a beat.

"Let's not make this a contest," mutters one of Kuze's friends in the back.

Tamaki shifts on his feet. He doesn't like how Kuze is towering over Kyouya - even though he has witnessed similar scenes for years now. Kuze likes to play the card of being older, sturdier and probably stronger (even if he is still on the slim side for a football player), since he really has no other way of winning one over Kyouya.

But now, to Tamaki, Kuze's image overlaps with Shirokawa's. In the back of his mind he wonders if Kuze may harbor comparable intentions, but quickly casts the thought away - this is a mere childhood rivalry, something Kyouya does enjoy to a certain degree, if his sharp-witted replies are to be trusted.

Still, Tamaki would rather not watch Kuze attempting to corner his best friend. It may not mean anything to Kuze, and Kyouya also might be fine with it, but Tamaki is decidedly uncomfortable.

"Kuze-senpai, as the king of the host club, I do apologize, however we really have to..." is as far as he gets, when a door behind Kuze is thrown open energetically and a crowd of first-year students barrels out.

Kuze, off balance, ends up taking Kyouya down with in - Tamaki only grasp hold of empty air when trying to catch his friend - and then Kyouya's crutch slams into his ankle, and he stumbles back with a pained moan.

Kyouya lands on his back with a loud thud, Kuze right on top of him. For one moment, he can't see - his ears are ringing, the colors swirling together and something heavy is squeezing all air out of him.

And then he realizes he can't move, can't roll away, can't push off the weight, and his heart starts racing and his brain kicks into overdrive - forgetting where he is, and who is on top of him.

Kuze is fairly surprised when he has barely managed to sit up, and Tamaki is already frantically attempting to pull him away. Strangely enough, Kyouya is not moving at all, but Tamaki insists he moves aside, before checking on his friend.

Tamaki drops to his knees immediately, forgetting all about his smarting ankle. Kyouya is chalk-white, and wide-open dark eyes stare at something that is not there - but when Tamaki calls his name, Kyouya does turn to look at him.

It takes only moments for Kyouya to collect himself. Tamaki can watch the barely veiled panic vanish, and color return to Kyouya's cheeks - yet he remains pale.

"I'm very sorry," mumbles one of the first year students who caused this behind them.

Kuze swallows, already back on his feet. "Are you okay?"

Tamaki wants to glare at him for being an idiot. Instead Kyouya adopts a saccharine smile. "I will be, shortly. However, senpai, I would really consider the ballet lessons in your place, seeing how a mere door could throw you off balance so easily."

Kuze's facial expression changes from concerned to annoyed in seconds.

Kyouya adds: "If not for your own sake, then at least for society. As it is, you are a safety hazard to be around."

Tamaki, resting a hand on Kyouya's shoulder, can feel very fine, invisible tremors. Which explains why Kyouya is trading arguments instead of trying to get to his feet. (They are already late for the Host Club meeting, Tamaki recons. And they may yet take a while).

Kuze glares back, and turns up his nose (his two friends have taken to edging down the corridor. They are probably running late as well). "At least people around me don't suddenly vanish. What did happen to Shirokawa, Ootori? You were the last one seen with him."

Tamaki can feel the blood vanish from his own face, while Kyouya tenses abruptly. Before either of them can provide an answer, a third party chimes in.

"He transferred, didn't you hear?" says Hunny, cutely tilting his head (though the look in his eyes, Tamaki realizes, is anything but cute), "But maybe you should start paying more attention to your surroundings than just to your hobby."

Mori nods in silent agreement, and there is little Kuze can say. He may be Ouran's star at football, but he is miles away from being a professional in that field the way Hunny and Mori are.

Hunny proceeds to ignore Kuze. "Tama-chan, Kyou-chan, we were wondering where you were. Did you hurt your ankle again?"

"Sorry about that," mutters Tamaki, while Kyouya does cast a glare into Kuze's direction, "We did get hold up by somebody who then was taken off of his feet by a door."

Kuze and his friends have already made their way down the corridor, however Kuze just has to turn around, and toss something at Kyouya. "Then have an orange for your trouble, Ootori."

Mori catches the orange before either Kyouya or Tamaki have even lifted an arm. Hunny turns to them. "Was he bothering you?"

Once again, his sunny persona has all but vanished, and Tamaki feels something cold run down his spine.

Kyouya sighs. "He was just being an idiot like usual."

Hunny's expression brightens slightly. "Then are you alright? If your ankle hurts, Takashi can carry you."

Kyouya grimaces. "It'll probably be okay."

He eventually tries to get up, but ends up needing Tamaki's help. The blond remains silent while they trudge toward the 3rd music room, not joining the light conversation between Kyouya and Hunny.

For some reason, the encounter with Kuze does not sit well with him.

* * *

At home, Kyouya drops his bag (including his laptop) on an armchair the moment he has stumbled into his set of rooms and closed the door behind him. He sinks down on the couch seconds later, eyes closed and heart racing.

He hasn't allowed anything to show at school, but emotions have been boiling dangerously close to the surface during the ride home.

When Kuze fell on him he would have had a panic attack, had Tamaki not called him back. Ever since then, he has been hanging on by his teeth. Now, as all watching eyes have disappeared, Kyouya allows himself to sink back into the cushions.

However, the moment he closes his eyes, he remembers. There is Shirokawa staring down at him, with that demented smile on his face. Ghostly fingers touching him - he flinches involuntarily.

Kyouya's eyes snap back open, and there's only his room. The fish swim their rounds in their tank, not caring that their owner is gasping for breath.

He can't close his eyes and relax, when that will bring up memories. There's homework to be done, calculations waiting, phone calls to be made - yet his knees feel like pudding, and he does not know if he can actually get up.

Kyouya curses Shirokawa from the depths of his heart at this moment. Just for putting him in this situation where he can't sleep or work - or show his face in public.

And Kuze too, for reminding him of a feeling he has tried to lock away in the darkest corner of his mind.

A shudder runs through him. It's that horrible sensation of being unable to move, that he can't stand. Maybe, somewhere this relates to his position - his personal aversion of being unable to decide his own fate - and it is just as intimate, but far more physical.

With a heavy sigh Kyouya reaches behind one of the couch cushions, removing a notebook and a pen. He will have to burn it when he is done, but for now writing down his thoughts is the only option he can realistically employ.

On Thursday, Tamaki arrives at school looking far from his chipper self. At Kyouya's prodding, he admits to a rare bout of insomnia, but leaves it at that.

And for the rest of the day, Tamaki proceeds to stick close. Not that it is so different from normal, but instead of rushing out to meet Haruhi for lunch, Tamaki waits for Kyouya to finish packing his things.

"You can go ahead if you want to," says Kyouya.

Tamaki shakes his head. "And leave mother to handle the stairs all alone? I am a better husband than that."

Kyouya is rather grateful the classroom is empty, and nobody overheard this particular oddity of a conversation (although it is already common knowledge by what titles Tamaki refers to the rest of the Host Club).

In the end, having Tamaki with him turns out to be practical. Tamaki carries his books, clears a way through the crowd of students filling the corridors, and also keeps curious customers away with smooth, sleek answers. In fact, when at one point Kuze makes to approach them, Tamaki puts an arm around Kyouya's shoulders and wordlessly proceeds to steer them into another direction.

* * *

On Thursday night, Akito once again wakes up in their library, his neck stiff and ink from the textbook probably smeared across his face. He does like his subject, and he enjoys being good at it, but currently he is looking forward to being done with exams and returning to a proper sleeping schedule (though looking at his father would imply he may be facing even more lack of sleep in the future).

He just closes the books, and stumbles out into the corridor, turning off the light on his way. Due to the library being located on top of their mansion - which consists, to a large part, of glass - he can see that most lights have already been turned off. All the offices visible from here are dark, as are the other rooms (even Akito is not too certain he can name them all).

One light remains on in the kitchen. Another one in Kyouya's room.

Something clenches in his stomach.

It is not unusual for Kyouya to stay up late into the night; but currently Akito can not help being worried. According to all he has seen, Kyouya is just doing fine - being his somewhat grumpy, silent self at breakfast. Still, he wonders if what he sees is not merely a facade.

(To be honest, it is a pity that he is so far estranged from his little brother to be unable to tell what is going on. Maybe that's the price they all pay for being who they are - though Akito is already certain, if he is to have children, he will raise them differently. Maybe they won't be as successful as he and his brothers - but he would rather have them live a happy, carefree life.)

He wonders if he should go over and check on Kyouya. If his brother is just fine, then he'll appear overly concerned. Then again, if Kyouya is not alright...

Maybe he has been reading too many textbooks on psychological side effects, but Akito decides to walk over.

Kyouya does answer the door a heartbeat after Akito has knocked. His hair is in disarray, and print-outs are spread out well over the table visible through the door gap – and he does look rather annoyed.

"Akito," he says, "What can I do for you?"

Akito swallows. Kyouya has learned to perfectly imitate their father's glare – which is scary, considering he actually resembles their late mother far more.

"Ah, I just saw there was still a light on in your room, and was wondering if you were alright," says Akito, settling for honesty.

Kyouya's expression changes to exasperated. "Yes, thank you I am. And as you may know, I am often awake at this time of the night."

"I know," says Akito, "I was merely concerned."

Kyouya raises an eyebrow at that.

"Can't I be that as an older brother?" asks Akito, wondering just when the relation between them became so distanced. Maybe there's the age gap to blame, too, but he did like playing with his siblings when he was younger (those precious, few moments, when Yuuichi did not have to study, and their parents were busy elsewhere).

"Well, certainly," says Kyouya, "However, I am perfectly fine."

Akito wants to say he doesn't look it – but it is not his place; not when he himself forgoes sleep in order to study, and sometimes can't stand the sight of food.

"That's good," he says, "Well, I'm off to bed, then. But if anything comes up – wake me up. That's what family is for."

* * *

"Tamaki," says Kyouya on Friday. It is lunch break, and Kyouya made certain to go slowly about packing his things, so that he has a moment alone with Tamaki, "While I appreciate what you are trying to do, would you mind stopping?"

Tamaki's eyes widen in surprise. "But I'm not doing..."

Kyouya sighs and pushes his glasses up. "I mean you playing my Siamese twin. I can handle those crutches quite fine, and you know Haruhi never visits the cafeteria unless you make her."

Tamaki tilts his head contemplatively. "Yes, but what if something like with Kuze happens again?"

Kyouya is taken aback. He swallows (he can, at least to himself admit, that if Tamaki had not been present on Wednesday, he may have suffered a full-blown panic attack. By now he has read enough books to understand that this would not be surprising – and that he really should talk to somebody. Which still is completely out of question).

"I think I'll be able to handle that," he says. After all, it is only Kuze. And Kyouya has dealt with him ever since kindergarten.

Tamaki frowns in response. "Not in a good way," he says slowly.

Kyouya feels like groaning. First Akito is being far too concerned, then Tamaki starts being over protective (at least his father is out of the country on another business trip, and has settled for texting every evening). He understands they all only mean well –

But to him, they would help far more were they acting like normal. He knows he will not forget what has almost happened anytime soon (and every incident, like that with Kuze, will only refresh the memory), yet it may fade in time.

"Tamaki," says Kyouya, "How about you try acting normal again? I think we may all profit from that."

"And pretend nothing happened?" Tamaki looks scandalized.

Kyouya recognizes this as a lost battle. So before Tamaki can start ranting, he resolves to settle this during their sleepover on the weekend.

"Anyway, I think we ought to head down for lunch, before the break is over," says Kyouya, and Tamaki's eyes light up.

"Haruhi and the others – we shouldn't keep them waiting!"

At least for now the balance has been restored.

_tbc_

* * *

_One more chapter to go. Anyhow, please feel free to share your impressions. ^_^_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own OHSHC.

**AN**: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! It always makes my day to know people actually enjoy reading what my mind comes up with. ^_^ Also, this is probably the second-to-last chapter (well, originally the fic was supposed to be five chapters only. It did grow from there ^^;). That said, please enjoy!

* * *

**Miscalculation – Part VI**

Large hands are holding him down. His struggles are futile - already somebody is touching him all over his body. He can't even scream - his lips are glued shut.

His clothes are gone in an instant - and Shirokawa's face floats right above his own, whispering: "Now you're going to be mine."

Then Kyouya sits up in bed, sweat-soaked and his heart is racing. Outside it's dark and silent, and the clock next to his bed reads 4:15. At least he can sleep in tomorrow - but even that does little to calm the shaking of his limbs.

The scars on his wrists itch - he faintly sees their outline in the dark. He did remove the bandages only earlier this afternoon; the abrasions are taking their fair time healing (or perhaps were more serious than he has realized). For a split second he sets the manicured nails of his left hand against his right wrist - something deep inside him wants to see blood, wants to set free what is caged in him - then rationality kicks in.

Kyouya draws a faint, if shaky breath, returning both his hands on top of his bedcovers. He can't allow his subconscious to wander.

Yet, when he lies back down, and closes his eyes, Shirokawa is back, smiling at him. And he can't help wonder what would have happened, had he not woken up to find the Host Club next to him - what if he had woken to the monster, once again?

... His nightmares tell him, and when the sun rises at six in the next morning, Kyouya contemplates forgoing sleep all together, and just getting to work. He ends up collapsing from exhaustion, then, and sleeping past noon.

* * *

Yoshio Ootori makes a rare appearance at home for lunch. However, as neither of his children are present (Akito is out with friends, and Kyouya still asleep), he works instead. It is rare that he uses this office for actual work – the location is quite nice, he realizes at this point.

But like so many things, he never has enough time to really appreciate what is close to him.

And while he has the art of distracting oneself by work down to pat, at late afternoon he tells one of the maids to have Kyouya come up and meet him once he is up. He does hope nobody is going to wake Kyouya on his accord - while sleeping late into the afternoon is certainly not proof of a healthy sleep pattern, there is nothing wrong with relaxing.

Kyouya shows up not too much later - and just by looking at him, Yoshio can't tell if he is suffering from insomnia or nightmares.

"How are you?" he asks, as Kyouya sits down, and leans his crutch against his chair.

"Improving," replies Kyouya.

"Everything healing as it should? Is your ankle giving you any troubles?" This is easy. This is the sort of conversation Yoshio has practices over decades of a career dealing with patients.

"Just fine," says Kyouya, "The stitches were taken out on Wednesday, and I expect to be rid of the crutch by next weekend."

"Very well," says Yoshio, and there is that heavy moment of silence between them, before he swallows and switches to the next topic. "Our lawyers have been in contact with the Shirokawa family. The case will only be presented pro forma - they are not disputing our charges."

Kyouya nods, and Yoshio wonders how to proceed. "Shirokawa-kun is going to therapy - he will not approach you again. However, a witness statement from you will be needed."

It may be his imagination, but Kyouya appears to pale.

"When?" asks his son, and holds Yoshio's gaze. Kyouya's composure is too perfect to be true, Yoshio can tell – as good an actor Kyouya may be, this is not the moment to be unfazed. That Kyouya pretends to be tells Yoshio more than words could (but what it says only seems to spell his own failure ever louder).

"Whenever you want," he says.

Kyouya glances contemplatively at his wristwatch, and Yoshio wonders once again if this child would ever open up to him. His relationship with his other children is not perfect – but he is certain that Yuuichi, Akito and Fuyumi would come to him if they were in serious trouble.

(And in fact, they have: He remembers petting Fuyumi's hair when she was nine and crying about how her best friend had become an enemy over night; taking care of bleeding knees while his wife told a sobbing Yuuichi to be strong, while a few meters to the side the wheel of his first bicycle was still spinning, or telling Akito not to be too upset when he broke an antique figurine of their mother.)

"Tamaki will be over in an hour," says Kyouya, "So perhaps we could schedule this for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Very well. I will tell Hirikawa-sensei to come by at four, then," Yoshio makes a remark – he will forward this to his secretary later so she can work out the details.

Kyouya nods, and then sits still, waiting for his father to continue. Yoshio can't help but frown – this is the one child that has never come to him with a scraped elbow or troubles at school. And while he had believed Kyouya had just never run into trouble, now he can't be certain.

If not for Kyouya's friends he may have never found out what almost happened. And he can't help wonder what else already happened without his knowledge. But neither can he expect Kyouya to open up to him – those mistakes have been committed a long, long time ago.

(For a moment he remembers the funeral of his wife. Yuuichi and Akito were standing next to each other – both desperately clinging onto their composure. Fuyumi was openly crying, clutching her youngest sibling close to her chest. And when silent tears began to roll down Akito's cheeks, Yuuichi had drawn him into a hug.

Yoshio had stood apart the entire time, and could only look at the casket, still unwilling believe the fates could be cruel enough to tear his wife from him.)

He had seen Kyouya cry back then, Yoshio recalled. It had happened on accident – he had searched to withdraw from the crowd and escaped upstairs – where he had found his youngest child, a photograph of his mother held in hand and tears streaming down his face.

But already then communication failed. While Yoshio had wondered what to do, Kyouya had turned and ran to his own rooms (and he had been relieved. With the funeral and grieve tearing at his own reserves, consoling a child would have been taxing).

Now Yoshio can only blame himself for not having made the effort then. The result sits in the other chair, a pleasant expression on his face, pretending nothing can faze him.

Yoshio sighs. "Kyouya, don't misunderstand me, but in light of what occurred, I believe you ought to speak with a therapist."

Kyouya's lips twitch, but he reigns in any impulsive form of protest. "I understand," he says, "However I think that will hardly be necessary."

"It is standard procedure in these situations," replies Yoshio evenly.

"I am familiar with those procedures, though I believe they apply to situations where something actually happened," Kyouya swallows, "In this case, nothing did – and since I do feel fine, I think therapy will not be required."

Yoshio presses his lips together. Psychology may not be his specialty, but he has a basic education – and Kyouya's insistence on being fine sets of a number of alarms. He also knows he has to be careful now, lest he damages this already tattered relationship even further.

"Arguably so," he says – he can't bring himself to call the attempted rape at its name (maybe because he, like Kyouya, subconsciously prefers the "nothing happened in the end" variation) – "However I would be personally feel much better if you met a therapist at least once."

He can see the wheels turning in Kyouya's head.

"In that case, it won't be a problem, father," replies Kyouya, "Though I believe it would be unfortunate should the press or anybody in general find out. As such, I wonder if the risk is not too high?"

A clever move – and yet utterly wrong.

Yoshio smiles sadly and leans forward (he wants to reach out, hug his son and tell him to stop with those stupid ideas), "Kyouya, if therapy is necessary, I could care less about the press or anybody finding out. I want you to be healthy and happy – and nothing else. Do you understand?"

When Kyouya just looks at him like a deer caught in the headlights, Yoshio continues: "I know I don't usually say so, but that is the basic truth: in comparison to health and happiness everything pales. Wealth, success – they mean little in the end."

And this is true – back when Yoshio was watching his wife die a little more each day, he would have gladly burned all his possessions if only he could restore her health. The same is now true for his children: as long as he can see them laughing and enjoying life he would gladly lose everything.

* * *

When Tamaki arrives, Kyouya is in Zombie-mode and he guesses he just woke up.

"Five o'clock. You do sleep later every time. One day you won't get up at all," he says.

Kyouya directs his best glare in Tamaki's direction. "Actually I…"

Then a golden-haired blur bounces with a happy bark past Tamaki and greets Kyouya enthusiastically. For a moment he is about to fall, then Tamaki catches his arm.

"And by the way, I brought Antoinette along," says the other blonde, "I hope you don't mind. But I rarely get to spend time with her, and she was getting lonely, and I remembered she likes you, and I thought…"

Kyouya disentangles himself and gestures for Tamaki to hold his ramblings. "It's okay," he replies (and hopes it actually is. But if luck is with him no other family member will actually encounter Antoinette), "Now, I believe there was homework?"

Tamaki pouts. "Do we have to? Why don't we take Antoinette for a walk instead?"

"We can do that later," says Kyouya.

* * *

Later turns into shortly before dinner, which is unusually chaotic.

Antoinette charms the staff as her owner does, and ends up with more food than either Kyouya and Tamaki. So it is one very happy dog and two more-or-less content high-school students that settle for bed hours later.

Tamaki naturally insisted on doing the sleepover commoner-style; sharing the bedroom. There are ten unused guest rooms with connected bathrooms in the Ootori mansion, but Tamaki insists. Kyouya threatens murder, bankruptcy and the end of the world should Tamaki wake him too early – Tamaki swears he won't on his immortal soul, all gods he can name (and a few he made up on the spot) and Mozart - and eventually Kyouya accepts.

It is already past Tamaki's usual bed time when they sit down in front of the fish tank. Kyouya wonders if he should get out his laptop, since Tamaki for once is silent.

In that moment, however, the blonde speaks. "I didn't ask earlier; how are you?"

"Fine, just fine," says Kyouya. If he sounds slightly annoyed, he can't help it.

Tamaki purses his lips. "Really?"

"Yes, really," is Kyouya's response, and because this is Tamaki who already saw him at his worst, he carries on, "Though apparently I shouldn't be. I'm not certain what people expect me to answer – why shouldn't I be fine?"

Tamaki makes to reply, but Kyouya raises a hand. "Yes, I realize something happened. But it was an attempt – it did not get very far, and I hardly remember anything of it."

(The nightmare just the night before, however, is calling him a liar. But that is not new to Kyouya.)

"I got away with a scare and some bruises," Kyouya shrugs, "In the end, it was really just nothing that happened."

"Kyouya," says Tamaki, and something in his voice makes Kyouya stop dead, "I don't think I'm speaking only for myself here, but also for the rest of the Host Club and your sibling as well."

The blonde is silent for a heartbeat, and his eyes don't leave Kyouya's.

"What happened is not nothing. Don't ever call it that."

Tamaki continues, "If anybody ever tries something like this again, even if they merely annoy you – tell me, tell your brothers, tell Mori, Haruhi, anybody. We don't ever want to see something like this happening ever again."

Because they may not be in time then.

"This is far more important than public image, bad press or all the money in the world. I don't care if I look stupid, I don't care what anybody thinks – no one of us does – but we can't do anything as long as we have no clue about what is going on," says Tamaki.

And he doesn't ever want to see Kyouya passed out with blood running down his forehead again. The memories alone send a shudder down his spine.

"I didn't know either," Kyouya mutters, but the protest is half-hearted.

"If ever, now, later or later, somebody tries to do something to you that you don't want – for whatever reason, blackmail, a business deal, whatever – promise me you won't even _think_ about it," Tamaki's voice manages to be hard and pleading at the same time, "Nor think about repercussion when it comes to us – we're friends. I don't care about money or image when it comes to helping a friend, and I don't think any of the others do, either. Maybe I'm being idealistic, putting friendship over fortune, but that's what it is."

Kyouya is silent. However, for once his eyes – wide-open in surprise – are not hooded, and Tamaki can see his words sink in. While he knows Kyouya doesn't like looking anything but professional, he can't help thinking this expression – making Kyouya look younger and more open – suits his friend.

(Because the other one is only a façade, and Tamaki never wants to see the moment when this smooth, callous façade replaces the person Kyouya really is).

When Kyouya still fails to respond, Tamaki instinctively throws his arms around him and draws him in for a hug. It's like hugging a statue, but Tamaki is not deterred.

"Sorry, but I needed to say that," he mutters past Kyouya's ear, and buries a hand in silky black hair, "I mean, you're probably already dealing really well with everything, but you know me… and well, maybe I'm being silly, but I was … still am worried. I know you don't like discussing stuff like this, but well…"

At that point Kyouya finally relaxes. "Listening to your monologue is preferably to a discussion, really," he mutters.

Tamaki can't help chuckling with relief. "Yeah, but you understood what I wanted to say?"

"Your ramblings were surprisingly to the point this time," replies Kyouya. Curiously enough, he makes no move to disentangle himself. (A double victory, because until now he has been unconsciously flinching whenever people touched him without warning. Or maybe he just doesn't react because it's Tamaki, and even his subconscious is used to the blonde's need for close contact).

"That's good," says Tamaki.

Because maybe this time Kyouya will understand his words not only by their logic – but also by their meaning.

_tbc_

* * *

_One more chapter to go. ^^ Hope you enjoyed reading; and if you feel like it, maybe you can give me an idea what you liked and what not-so-much?  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**AN: **Last chapter. It was fun writing, and maybe one day I'll get around to write something long and evil (I do love horror stories). But for now, please enjoy the chapter and your feedback was awesome!

* * *

**Miscalculation**

**VII**

When Yoshio Ootori leaves for an appointment in Kuala Lumpur early on Sunday morning, he stops to inform Akito that they're expecting the family lawyer this afternoon, and for him to "have an eye on Kyouya" afterwards.

Akito is still mulling on how to achieve that when he sits down for lunch with Tamaki and Kyouya.

The Suou heir is talking a mile a minute, eyes sparkling and his wild gestures threatening to throw over his glass every other moment. Kyouya gives calm replies from time to time, and just nods at others. His posture is relaxed, and Aktio has to admit if he didn't know better, he would not have guessed something had occurred.

The crutch, he notices, has disappeared as well. A faint shadow of a bruise remains on his temple, but it is rendered more or less invisible under Kyouya's hair.

"Well, if he had anymore time I'd suggest we start planning the outing right now. You know how difficult it is to secure landing permission with the busier airports," says Tamaki, gazing wistfully into the air.

A host club outing, if Akito was following correctly. Possibly to Bali or Koh Samui - he didn't quite catch that part. But then he is sitting upright and setting his own glass down.

"I doubt you'd be imposing if you were to stay another night, Suou-kun," says Akito with a smile.

Kyouya casts him a thinly veiled glare, while Tamaki lights up like a supernova.

"Can I? Really?" his grin is infectious, so Akito mirrors it as he nods and says "Naturally."

Behind the subtle glare Kyouya directs at him Akito senses a question. Instead of a reply he merely raises an eyebrow - Kyouya probably reads this as a reminder to retain good relations to the Suou family, but that is not what Akito actually cares about.

He is very well aware that Kyouya will not open up to him - not even about what he is going to tell their lawyer later tonight. However Tamaki is famous for his ability to tear right through all of Kyouya's defenses. So if somebody can be there for his baby brother tonight, Tamaki is their best option.

* * *

The lawyer - a woman in her fifties - arrives on time and only exchanges the barest of pleasantries, before withdrawing into one of the ground floor studies with Kyouya. Akito is left to return to his textbooks, while Tamaki takes Antoinette for a walk.

Ichinose - the lawyer - calmly reads to Kyouya what they plan to charge Shirokawa with; and somewhere in the back of his mind Kyouya is surprised how dramatic it sounds. She gazes at him over the top of her papers, quiet and intent.

"While we have the facts and the medical evaluation -" she says, and Kyouya almost flinches (who gave her access to his files? He understands how it would have been necessary, but he can't remember having asked for consent), "We need a statement from you. Just tell me what occurred in your own words, that will suffice."

Kyouya nods - and pushes that sentiment of betrayal forcefully away. Ichinose sets a small recorder on the table.

"Shirokawa transferred to Ouran earlier this year. We have been acquaintaned before, which is why I believe he initially sought me out," and then Shirokawa had attempted to become his friend, but, if he was honest to himself, Kyouya had never considered him such.

"Last week he asked me to meet up with him down in the cellar," says Kyouya. Ichinose shows no outward reaction, but the set-up sounds probably suspicious. More suspicious than it actually is, when one is familiar with Ouran and knows the cellar is not really dark or scary.

At that time he had still expected an embarrassing confession. "While waiting there, I was knocked out, and when I came to Shirokawa and I were alone in a room."

He swallows. The room had been bare, but that hadn't mattered then, not when the restrains on his wrists had been chafing and his head had hurt.

"Shirokawa ... confessed, however his wording was rather disturbing. I did suspect some underlying psychological condition," Kyouya stops himself here. This is irrelevant. She did ask what occurred, not what he was thinking at that time.

And he hadn't really thought about psychological conditions - he had just thought Shirokawa had gone and snapped, and how to get out alive.

"I did attempt to escape, however this was futile and led to Shirokawa knocking me out again. In the meantime I believe my ..." (he can't use the word acquaintances. Not for them, even though the word friends still makes his toenails curl), "... friends noticed my absence and went looking. It was also them who eventually found me."

The rest is history, thinks Kyouya and makes an effort to unclench his hands.

For some reason there is cold sweat making his hair stick to the back of his neck. He refrains from tugging at his color, even though Ichinose seems engrossed in scrolling through her notes.

"Very well, thank you," she says after a moment and turns the recorder off, "That should suffice. Please look through the official statement - if you agree, sign on the last page, if not, tell me what you would like to change."

Kyouya nods, and manages to keep his hands from shaking as he reaches out to take the papers.

* * *

Despite Kyouya's claims of being alright, Tamaki wakes up to the sound of whimpers in the middle of the night. He hesitates for a second, listens a moment longer - Kyouya will murder him for waking him from a normal dream - but this is definitely a nightmare.

"No," whispers Kyouya, tossing his head from one side to the other, "No."

He is asleep, tangled in his blankets, and Tamaki hates the pained frown on his face. Kyouya would never allow such an expression if he was awake - and while Tamaki may wish for him to show more emotion, he wants those to be happy ones.

"Kyouya," he says, sotto voce.

Instead of coming awake Kyouya's frown deepens, and when Tamaki calls again, he attempts to lift a hand - but tangled in his blankets as he is, he can't move. For the first time Tamaki sees panic on his friend's features, and he reaches out.

He knows touching Kyouya in this situation in not a good idea, but he's not going to let him linger in this nightmare any longer.

The moment he gives Kyouya's shoulder - very bony under the thin fabric of his pajamas - a shake, the others boy's eyes fly open. They remain wide, terrified and open - then Kyouya blinks and his features settle.

"Tamaki?" he asks, swallowing what might have been scream.

"Yes," replies Tamaki lightly, because he isn't quite certain what tone to take, "Do you want your glasses?"

"No," says Kyouya after a minuite small pause, "That's alright."

His body relaxes, but Tamaki sees a fine tremor in the hand Kyouya uses to comb a few strands of hair out of his too-pale face. He doesn't move, remaining perched on Kyouya's bedside.

None of them speaks. Tamaki knows asking Kyouya to talk about his nightmare is useless - however he is unwilling to return to his own bed just like this. Kyouya meanwhile focuses on steadying his breathing, and refocusing himself on reality - on being in his own bed, and not back in some distorted version of the cellar with a Shirokawa that looks more like a monster than a human being looming over him.

Nobody had come in that dream. He had been waiting, screaming - but nobody had shown up while that Shirokawa-monster had taken him apart, piece for piece.

He shudders, and his muscles reverberate with pain from being tense for too long.

"Would you like a massage?" asks Tamaki, sounding almost hesitant.

Whatever part of Kyouya doesn't really like people touching him is overruled fast. His back aches, he wants to go back to sleep (a good sleep) and this is Tamaki. He rolls on his stomach in reply.

Tamaki smiles into the dark room. "Very well," he says, "Just tell me if it gets uncomfortable."

And then he sets to work.

* * *

The Host Club resumes business on Monday afternoon. Customer inquiries are waved away in the most interesting manner possible. Haruhi hears Kaoru tell two girls from year one that Honey had a dentist appointment that went wrong, while Hikaru spins a mystery tale about unfortunate omens and predictions of bad luck from the black magic club. Honey backs this unintentionally by mentioning something had gone wrong with preparations, while Tamaki waxes poetic about time spent deepening the family bonds. Mori says nothing and Haruhi says she doesn't really know. Kyouya mentions scheduling conflicts, and Kuze (when passing) swears its because Kyouya fell down a staircase.

By lunch the school is buzzing with rumors, ranging from magical interference to robbery. It does bring them many concerned customers, and Haruhi realizes with interest that nobody is too interested in what actually happened. Or at least, nobody even suspects what occurred.

Kyouya, too, doesn't draw any attention. The crutch is gone, as are all bandages, and if bruises remain they have been carefully hidden away. Haruhi caught him limping a bit earlier, before the club opened, but while they're hosting he is moving as smoothly as ever.

He even remains on his feet after they have sent their last customer on their way, going through a checklist. Until Kaoru walks up to him.

"Give that to me and sit down, senpai," he says, "I'll oversee the cleanup."

Kyouya gazes at him over the top of his glasses for a moment, before handing everything over. "Enjoy," he says, and then Tamaki drags hims away, but not before giving Kaoru a thumb-up.

Haruhi feels like smiling then. They may not be family, but it is nice to see that there is honest connection between them all. This is not just about future contacts, or business relations ...

She feels a lot less like smiling when she comes home long after dinner. Kaoru had drafter her and Hikaru in (they also needed to prepare in case they intended to keep the club running) - and hast vastly underestimated how long clean-up would take.

* * *

Kyouya resumes his normal working schedule after this, with the result that he usually collapses in his bed from exhaustion sometime and sleeps like the dead. Even on the day of the dread psychologist appointment, he feels more exhausted than nervous.

Telling the tale a second time is easier. He doesn't lose himself in sketching his own thoughts, even though the psychologists more or less asks him to. His pulse remains calm most of the time - there is an uncomfortable spike when the man asks about what-ifs and nightmares - in the end Kyouya resumes to answer honestly.

"Those will probably never go away completely," says the man eventually, "But for most people they become less frequent and intense after a while. However, at other times they cause effects that may very well affect a person's work and social life. There are medications that can be used in those cases..."

He trails off and eyes Kyouya carefully.

"I don't think that is necessary," says Kyouya with a polite smile.

"Well, feel free to inquire should they be," replies the man, "Other than that, I would recommend talking to a person of choice sooner or later."

Kyouya nods. He doesn't think he will talk about those moments down in the cellar or his nightmares anytime soon. Not to Akito, Fuyumi of father - and neither to Tamaki. But he has to admit he didn't mind Tamaki's company that Sunday night.

Maybe that will suffice.

* * *

Thursday sees Hunny take away Kyouya's tablet and hand it to Kaoru, saying "You need practice."

Kaoru, Hikaru and Haruhi know better than to protest. Kyouya raises an eyebrow, but Hunny waves him over to a testable, where two plates (cake and sandwich) are waiting. Mori already sits in one armchair like a silent guardian statue.

Hunny smiles sweetly and Kyouya can't really do anything but sit down.

"Eat," says Hunny, as Kyouya fails to move, "Or do you want to hold Usa-chan?"

Kyouya pushes his glasses up, and picks up the sandwich without a further word. When he is chewing, Hunny set his dessert fork down.

"You know, if you want to, you can join Mori and me at the dojo. We practice privately four times a week," says Hunny, "It would be fun if you came along. We could invite the rest of the club, too."

Haruhi and the twins could do with some self-defense lessons. Tamaki too, unless he has a chance to employ his legendary kick.

"Let's think about it," replies Kyouya, and takes another bite of the sandwich. He isn't that hungry, but Hunny is not far from turning dead serious - a situation he would rather avoid. (And Akito has started nagging him about his eating habits, too. Which is annoying, because Kyouya knows he has lost weight, but then he always does when he gets very stressed. He'd rather wait for his nerves to calm before forcing food down his throat.)

"Great," says Hunny cheerfully, "We'll practice and then we'll have cake."

* * *

Yoshio Ootori happens to come home for a few hours on Saturday night the following weekend. He is fairly surprised to hear laughter echo down one of the long corridors - and heads down to investigate.

What he finds is a curious convention of staff members (their chef and two kitchen aids, two of the drivers, a gardener and Kyouya's personal bodyguards), an unfamiliar, slightly over-enthusiastic dog, Kyouya and Tamaki joined in a half-circle around a far-too small table. On the other side Tamaki was demonstrating something (it may have been cooking, a ninja's assassination move or a surgical maneuver), and it had the vast majority of onlookers in stitches (it was not clear if that had been his intention).

And while Kyouya was not laughing out loud, Yoshio found the smile (smirk?) on his youngest son's lips endearing.

He was under no delusions that Kyouya wouldn't forever live with the memory of what Shirokawa had attempted. But maybe, maybe...

Just maybe things would turn out better than he dared to hope.

_Fin_

* * *

_Thank you all for reading so far. I hope you enjoyed it, and while I could go on, I believe this is a nice point to have it all end. (in other words: I did to the character what I set out to. ) :)  
_


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